Sleep Eternal
by LittleFairy78
Summary: It took a split second, the longest split second in Dean's life to understand. And once he did, he wanted to scream even louder than Sam had just seconds before. The realization pulled the floor out from under Dean's feet. Sam thought he was dead.
1. Chapter 1

I know I should be working on "The Darkness Within", and I promise I haven't abandoned it. But my muse struck me on this one, and I have long since learned not to question her or disobey.

The **rating **of this story is due to Winchester language. Some bad words, mostly from Dean.

This one is supposed to be set in continuation after episode 4.14 "Sex and Violence". Not directly afterwards, but not too long after. Their first, maybe second hunt after the events in that episode.

**Spoilers **up to and including 4.14 "Sex and Violence".

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything Supernatural, no matter how much I wish I did. Everything belongs to Kripke, The CW and a lot of others who all aren't associated with me in any way. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made with this story as it was written for entertainment purposes only.

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The inspiration for this story isn't mine. It came to me while reading _K Hanna Korossy's "Double Feature: Pick your Poison"_. If you haven't read it yet, follow the link under my favourite author's list and do, because it's great. And while she didn't insist on credit, I think it's due because without her story, this one would have never seen the light of day. I simply took her idea one step further. Somehow I can't resist hurting these poor boys.

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**Sleep Eternal**

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When the knife went into his side, Dean didn't feel any pain. Not for a split second at least, until the message of _blade_ and _flesh_ and _tearing_ and _blood_ and _pain_ had been picked up by his nerves and was fast forwarded to his brain. Then it hurt.

A lot.

Part of it was his wounded pride, Dean was sure of that. Because he hadn't seen it coming when he should have, and now he had a frigging knife in his side and a pissed off witch to deal with, and he was alone. Sam was around somewhere of course, but the basic idea of splitting up was that you didn't stick close together, so Sam definitely wasn't close enough to help him right now. Not really.

So Dean did what he had always done – he tried to survive. He was struggling to ignore the pain for now, just enough so that he could move and break that witch's scrawny neck. Well, not so scrawny, admittedly. More like plump, really. But then, it said nowhere in the handbook that witches had to be pretty.

Dean made move to spin around, trying to grab the witch's hand that had plunged the knife into his side, but the forest was spinning around him and his arms were flaying around sluggishly, reaching here and there but not where he wanted to have them.

And suddenly there were arms encircling his waist, pinning his arms to his side, and Dean could feel the witch's chin press into his shoulder as she stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear. The proximity and the feel of her breath gushing over the side of his neck made the bile rise in his throat, but it was her words that really made him want to vomit.

"Thought you could just come here and kill me? That's stupid, even for a hunter. I'm far too powerful, my boy. And this here? This forest? In here I am queen, and you're just a bug that I crush under my heel."

Dean wanted to protest, was searching for some witty comeback, but all that came out of his mouth was a strangled groan. Pathetic, really. The witch seemed greatly amused by it, though, if her chuckles were any indication.

"Problems speaking? Don't worry, you won't need that pretty mouth of yours anymore. Just a few minutes longer, then I'll be done with you. And if that doesn't make your friend stop chasing after me, I'll have to do the same to him."

Panic flared up in Dean's chest, white and hot and blinding. That bitch was threatening to go after Sam, and Dean was too weak to do anything against it. Hell, he didn't even have enough strength to break her grip on his arms, and that bitch was anything but strong. But all Dean felt was an icy tingling sensation in his side where the knife had entered. It was disconcerting, unlike anything Dean had ever felt before, and he found it hard to breathe as the ice was slowly spreading down his side, into his legs, his feet, and upwards too into his arms.

With a chuckle, the witch let go of Dean's arms. And as soon as her supporting grip was gone, Dean found that he was swaying where he stood, legs suddenly too weak to carry his own weight and really? How fucked up was that?

Dean had no idea what the witch had done to him, but he knew that _something_ was going on with his body, making it slide out from under his control. One moment he was wavering on his feet, swaying and trying to find elusive balance, the next he saw the forest floor rush up to meet him. His brain sent the frantic message to his arms and hands to _move_, to do something to brace his fall, but just like his legs his arms were far beyond his control.

He could only watch as the ground came closer, couldn't even close his eyes as it happened, and a grunt escaped his lips as he fell, landing face-first on the mossy ground. The left side of his face impacted first, but the pain didn't even have time to register as his injured side followed suit, falling down on the ground and sending spikes of previously unknown agony through his body.

His vision blackened for a moment, and the next thing he saw was a patch of moss right in front of his right eye, his left squished slightly into the ground. Moss and small twigs, soggy with the rain that had been pelting down earlier, and it was so close that the edges of plant and twigs blurred. Too close to his face, and he couldn't focus his eyes.

He couldn't even blink.

It might have been the pain, but the normal reaction to pain as bad as that in his side was to screw his eyes shut, to try and breathe through it until it passed, to curl in around the injured side in an attempt to alleviate the agony.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't move, he couldn't blink, he couldn't even breathe.

He couldn't breathe.

That thought sent a wave of panic through him. His brain wanted to draw deep breaths, to pant through the pulses of pain that coursed through him, but he couldn't. But his lungs weren't screaming for oxygen, he wasn't blacking out, nothing. So he was breathing, right? Only that he wasn't.

What had that bitch done to him?

As if sensing his unspoken question, Dean heard steps approach him on the soggy ground. There was a rustle of moving fabric, then the witch's face came into his limited field of vision. And dude, wasn't she an ugly bitch? Even more so now, with her face turned upside down from his position and that grin plastered on her features.

"This is what happens when you try to kill me, boy. Here in these woods, I'm the master of life and death. And everything in between."

She reached out a hand, and Dean instinctively tried to jerk away from her touch, brain screaming at his muscles to obey, to _move_, but to no avail. Her cold hand settled on his forehead, running fingertips through the spiky hair before sliding slowly down the side of his face in a caress that made Dean want to vomit. The witch's smile widened as she repeated the movement.

"Such a pretty face. Such a waste. But you brought this upon yourself, my boy. Sleep eternal. You and your friend came here to kill something, so I give you something to kill. I'll give him something to kill."

And then the touch was gone, but Dean didn't even feel any relief as the witch's words were racing through his head. Of course Sam was going to kill that bitch for doing this. Hell, Dean was going to be right there with him as soon as whatever she had done wore off. But that couldn't be what she meant.

Just as suddenly as she had appeared, the witch was gone again. Dean could hear her steps, the rustling of her coat as she moved through the trees and underbrush, until it was silent.

All was silent.

Dean strained his ears trying to hear where she had gone, trying to hear if Sam was close. What if she was going after Sam next? His brother had no idea what was happening, and as easily as the witch had snuck up on Dean earlier, she wasn't to be underestimated. Hardly anything was able to surprise Dean like that, and if she got to him as easily as that, she'd be able to surprise Sam, too.

No matter if his brother thought he was the better hunter or not.

Dean forced the bitter thoughts from his mind. Not now. He wasn't going into a mental rehashing of all the things said between them, and whether or not Sam had been right with what he had said. Not now. Later. Preferably never.

Right now Dean needed for Sam to be okay, for that witch to leave him alone. He needed for Sam to find him.

The ground was soggy from the earlier rain, but the wet moss didn't mean it was comfortable. There were twigs and small stones everywhere, poking into his thighs and chest, into his cheek and his injured side. Dean wanted to move, desperately wanted to shift around and try to alleviate the pressure, but he couldn't. He was completely helpless and couldn't even shift to get the stones from bruising him all over. And if he couldn't do that, there was nothing he could do against the bleeding wound in his side.

Dean was wearing his leather jacket – and if that witch had cut that with her knife he was going to kill her more than once, and in the most bloody way he could think of. But underneath the jacket, Dean could feel warmth seeping out into the layers of his shirt. The wound had bled badly, and that wasn't good. Though he couldn't tell if it was still bleeding. Hell, he couldn't say for sure if he was still breathing, how was he to say whether or not his heart was still beating.

He really hated witches.

Really, _really_ hated them.

Something was moving in front of his eyes. Not the movement he had been hoping for. It wasn't Sam forcing his insanely tall body through the bushes, coming to his rescue. No, it was something small moving right in front of his eyes, across the patch of moss his face was lying on. Small, crawling movements. A bug maybe, or an ant. Too close to focus, and much too close for comfort. The way he was lying there, right on the ground with his mouth half-open and unable to move, pretty much anything could come crawling up his mouth and nose right now.

Not good.

What had that witch done to him? He had never heard of something that immobilized people like that. Was it a spell, or a poison? Dean had no clue, but he was sure Sam was going to figure it out. Sam was good at these things. An hour of research, maybe two, and Sam would know what to do.

Of course, his brother had to find him first.

Preferably before he bled out on the forest floor.

Any time now, Sammy.

The wetness of the ground was seeping into his clothes. Just his luck that he had fallen onto the soggiest, yet at the same time rockiest, patch of moss and grass in this entire forest. Slowly, cold wetness was seeping up into his clothes. His left jeans leg was already soaked, and Dean only hoped Sam was going to find him before the rain and dew made it look as if he had wet himself. Because that would be just the thing to make this already crappy day even worse.

Much worse.

The bug had crawled out of his line of vision, moved somewhere into the direction of Dean's hair, and without even that to watch, Dean suddenly felt very alone.

The forest was huge, Sam could be practically anywhere. And if there was a frigging witch haunting these parts, who knew what else was there that could be attracted by the smell of blood and the sight of a helpless body lying on the ground. Dean wasn't afraid of anything nature had to throw at him, but that was when he was able to do more than lie on the ground and stare. If an animal decided to see if he made for a good lunch, Dean had no idea how to defend himself. Somehow he doubted that staring a bear away would do much good.

Now would be good, Sam.

But Sam wasn't there.

All Dean saw was the empty ground in front of him, and all he heard was the wind blowing through the trees above him, the rustling of leaves and branches, the chirping of birds who had no idea what was going on down here on the ground.

With every rustle in the underbrush Dean wanted to jerk around and look what it was, but each and every time he had to learn anew that his body wasn't following his commands. There was no way to tell if it was a rabbit, a fox or a frigging wolf that was moving in and out of the bushes around him. The only thing he knew was that it wasn't Sam.

And right now, Dean really needed his little brother to show up and save his sorry ass. He was even going to let the kid drive if he finally showed up. Hell, if Sam came right now and found a quick way to fix this, Dean wasn't even going to object if his brother wanted to reinstall that infernal iPod in the car again. Well, not going to object much, in any case.

But Sam didn't come.

And Dean felt real fear grip him at the thought that maybe Sam wasn't going to find him. Who knew how deep in the woods he had gone earlier. Sam could be anywhere. Even if he was looking for him by now, Dean had no way to answer, to tell Sam where he was.

This was definitely the last time they hunted a witch. Covens were bad enough, but really, some housewives trying to get a lower mortgage was a different league entirely than trying to bring down one of those evil bitches who really knew their stuff. Like this one, who drew her power from an ancient spring somewhere in this forest, and who could only be stopped if they found that spring and destroyed her source of power.

How? Well, that hadn't been part of the plan so far. They had been flying pretty much by the seats of their pants on this one, determined to figure this case out as they went along. The first goal had been to stop the deaths in these woods from happening. Because not only was this witch powerful, she was also territorial. Which didn't quite go over well in a stretch of woods that was a popular retreat.

Definitely the last time they even went near a witch.

Something else was crawling into his field of vision. A caterpillar this time, maybe a centipede. It was so hard to tell with everything blurred right in front of his face. The pain wasn't helping, either. His side was no longer pulsing in agony, but a constant sharp pain was lingering where the knife had cut him. The only good thing was that Dean was fairly sure the wound had stopped bleeding by now. His side was feeling cold and clammy, no longer warm with fresh blood. And he was fairly sure that the knife hadn't hit anything vital. Not his lung, at least. Muscles and tissue for sure, and maybe some blood vessels. But nothing vital.

If Sam was going to come anytime soon, he might just make it without any problems.

The caterpillar stopped moving, its interest piqued by a patch of moss that to Dean for all the world looked like every other patch of moss around. Soggy and green, with twigs sticking out. Twigs that were poking him all over his body, adding a dull pain to the sharp pain from his side. The caterpillar inspected the spot, at least Dean assumed that it did, before it slowly started to crawl away again. Soon it would be outside his field of vision, and Dean would be alone again.

Really, how pathetic was that?

It was just a frigging caterpillar, not his best friend.

Sam.

He really needed Sam right now.

Everything that had happened between them aside, no matter how screwed up and awkward things were between them, right now Dean needed Sam. He needed Sam to come find him, and he needed Sam to figure out a way to turn him back to normal. And maybe, somewhere deep down, he needed Sam to be worried about him, too. Because that would show that not all was lost between them. That there was still something left worth saving, something that made it all worth the effort.

Dean had been a big brother for nearly all his life. Worrying and taking care came as naturally to him as breathing. But right now he needed Sam to do that for him, until the witch was dead and Dean was back to normal.

Another branch snapped close by, and again Dean's brain sent the message to jerk his neck. But all that happened was that Dean watched the caterpillar crawl away.

No steps followed the snap of a branch, and Dean felt an eerie feeling creep down his spine. What if the witch was back? Or if some kind of animal had found him? Frantically, Dean searched his memory for predators indigenous to this area. Were there bears in these woods? Wolves? Frigging huge boars?

He had no idea.

"Dean!"

Dean wanted to cry.

Yes, it was embarrassing and girlish and unmanly, but right now Dean didn't care. Sam's voice was the best thing he had heard since this whole nightmare had started. Sam was looking for him. That meant Sam was going to find him, and this nightmare was soon going to be over.

"Dean!"

Closer now, and every fiber of Dean's body strained to answer and yell back, let Sam know where he was. But he couldn't draw a deep breath, and he couldn't yell. He couldn't even whimper, or make any move that would let Sam know where he was. All he could do was lie there and listen, trying to judge where his brother was by the sounds of the woods around him.

"Dean!"

Farther away than the last time, and Dean felt the panic flare up again. What if Sam ran straight past him without seeing him? He had no idea how visible his position was to someone passing by, and his throat choked up at the thought that Sam was running past him without seeing him. Please, don't let that happen. Please. Just let Sam find him, that was all he was asking.

There was movement somewhere behind him then, twigs and branches snapping under the weight of someone running by, and Dean could see in his mind how Sam barreled through the underbrush, lanky frame moving with only consideration for speed, not stealth.

"Dean!"

It was so close Dean wanted to choke out a sob if only he could have. Please Sam, please just look down. Don't just listen, _look_.

The movement stopped, as if Sam had heard his brother's mental plea and stopped his dash to look around for a moment, then it picked up again. Dean had no idea where to, he was so confused and in pain and desperate that his mind had problems figuring out where he was and where the sounds were coming from. It all kinda blurred into one another, the sounds and sights and the caterpillar crawling back into his line of vision.

"Dean!"

Right by him this time, and then it all happened insanely fast. Dean could swear he felt the soggy ground vibrate as steps barreled towards him, slipping on the wet moss and somehow managing to slide to a stop beside him.

"God, Dean."

The words came together with a touch to his shoulder, solid and _real_ and the best thing Dean had felt in too long, even if it was dampened by the thick material of his leather jacket. Sam had found him. Sam was going to fix this. It was going to be okay.

"Damn it Dean, talk to me. Say something."

He wished he could. He desperately wished he could, even though Dean had no idea what he would say if only he were able to speak. _Thank you_ came to mind. Thanks for finding me, for not giving up on me, for fixing this. But even if he could have spoken, he'd probably not have said it out loud.

Sam's big hands were on him now, checking all over as if to make sure that everything was still in place. And then the pain suddenly increased as the pressure of those hands shifted and the world started moving around him. Moss and twigs gave way to branches and glimpses of the grey sky beyond them. Distantly, Dean was aware that Sam had turned him on his back, but that realization took the backseat in face of the indescribable agony caused by the movement.

And then Sam was in his line of vision, _finally_, slightly blurry because he was too close to focus, but clear enough to make out the important details – cheeks flushed from running, eyes wide, and a degree of fear and panic written on his face that made Dean regret his earlier wish for Sam to worry about him. Sam shouldn't be this scared, it wasn't as if Dean was dead. That witch had only paralyzed him or something, nothing they couldn't deal with.

"Dean? Come on man, don't do this to me."

A large hand cupped his cheek, and Dean wanted to moan at the warmth spreading into his skin. He didn't know for how long he had been lying on the forest floor, but it had been enough to drench him and make him feel cold, so cold.

"No. No, no. This isn't happening. No. Dean!"

Sam's hand withdrew, and a second later Dean felt a stinging slap to his cheek. Now that was uncalled for. There really was no need to slap him, Dean was right _here_. He just couldn't say or show it.

Fingers pressed against his throat, digging uncomfortably into the skin over his jugular, and it took a moment for Dean to realize that his brother was searching for a pulse. Which was stupid. Sam didn't need to look for a pulse, not if Dean was right here and alive and breathing, and he was confused why Sam didn't see that.

But Sam just pressed down harder, then let go only to immediately press his fingers into Dean's neck again, waiting for a few seconds before shifting the position of his fingers slightly and trying again. It didn't make sense. Sam knew how to take a pulse, and Dean was alive, so Sam should have long found it. Only he didn't. He kept on pressing his fingers against Dean's jugular again and again, mouth moving in a constant repetition of _Nonononono_.

Dean had no idea what was happening, why Sam didn't see that he was alive and right there. He only knew that Sam didn't see it. And then suddenly the fingers were gone and Sam's silent and steady cadence of _Nonono_ increased in volume.

Dean felt his head jerked back, chin pointing up at the trees above them, those large callused hands on his face, drawing down his chin and pinching his nose shut, and then Sam's face was suddenly uncomfortably close and…Dean's brain was only able to send the message of _What the Hell?_ when suddenly Sam's mouth was on his and he felt his chest expand with a deep breath – not his breath, Sam's breath, Sam breathing for him. Once, twice, then Sam's face was gone as suddenly as it had appeared.

Movement on his chest now, shirts being moved and shifted and ripped to get them out of the way, then his brother's fingers on him again, and Dean thought that if Sam was still searching for a pulse, he was definitely searching in the wrong place. But Sam wasn't searching for a pulse, Dean knew that. Fingers gliding over Dean's sternum in quick and practiced moves, Sam found the spot he was looking for. Even though Dean knew what was coming there was no time to brace himself for the sudden pressure and yes, _pain_, as both Sam's hands pressed down hard on the spot they had sought out earlier, compressing his chest and trying to force his heart into beating when all they really did was press the earlier breaths right out of his body.

Fifteen repetitions. Dean knew, he didn't have to count.

Fifteen hard and painful presses against his chest with the full weight of Sam's body behind them, then another shift and Sam's face replaced the view of branches and trees and sky again as he leaned in to breathe for Dean again.

There was nothing Dean could do to stop Sam from pressing breaths into his lungs. He could do nothing but lie there and let it happen, thinking that it made no sense that Sam was doing this, that Dean didn't need his brother to breathe for him, and that he wasn't going to let Sam eat hash browns and onions for breakfast ever again, just on the off chance that CPR was going to be involved later in the day.

Dean didn't need Sam to breathe for him. He had been breathing on his own earlier, somehow. He didn't know how, but he must have been breathing because he hadn't suffocated yet. And what Sam was doing was disrupting however he had been breathing before, making him feel lightheaded and dizzy.

Two long and deep breaths that smelled of onions and panic, short seconds in which Sam's face was close enough for Dean to realize how cold he was compared to his brother's flushed warmth, then fifteen painful compressions against his chest, tearing at his injured side and forcing the air out of his lungs again. Two more breaths. Fifteen more compressions. And again. And again.

And all the while Dean wanted to scream for Sam to stop it. He wanted it to end, wanted Sam to realize that what he was doing was completely unnecessary. He wanted for Sam to notice that while there was something big they needed to fix, _this_ wasn't it.

And he wanted for Sam to stop because he could see how pale his brother was in those few glimpses he caught of Sam when he leaned in to give him another breath. They had both learned CPR from their Dad. They both knew how dangerous it could be to keep CPR up for too long. Besides, Dean didn't need CPR, and he had no frigging clue why Sam thought he did. No clue at all.

And no way to tell Sam to stop it. He couldn't do anything but lie there and let it happen.

Sam's movements were getting more frantic after a while, more uncoordinated, _helpless_. And Dean couldn't do anything. He couldn't do anything when Sam's fingers went back to his throat, colder now and digging painfully into his skin as if that could force him to feel Dean's pulse under his fingers. He could do nothing as Sam launched into another repetition of breath-breath-compression after that, only to stop halfway through the fifteen presses against his chest.

Sam's fingers grabbed the lapels of his jacket then, pulling him upright and leaning him against Sam's chest, and despite the stabbing pain in his side Dean wanted to cry in relief because he thought that Sam had finally understood, had finally noticed that Dean was right there and didn't need his help to breathe or for his heart to beat.

Arms wrapped around him, one large hand cupping the back of his head and pressing it into Sam's shoulder, and Dean's brain stopped thinking anything beyond _Sam_ and _warm_ and _fix this_. But the grip on Dean's hair turned painful, and a loud, painful howl suddenly echoed through the silent woods around them, a sound that made Dean want to flinch and look around in search of whatever animal had caused it. It took a split second to realize that the source of the sound hadn't been an animal at all, but something much closer. Only when the shoulder under his forehead hitched with a suppressed sob and another of those howls followed, loud and pained like an animal that was hurt, did Dean realize that it was Sam who was screaming like that.

Sam who was rocking them back and forth on the cold and wet forest floor.

Sam who had resumed his pained litany of _Nonononono_ again, as if that was the only syllable his brain was capable of producing.

Sam who was clinging to him the way Dean remembered clinging to his brother's dead body in Cold Oak, when Sam had died in his arms.

It took a split second, the longest split second in Dean's life to understand. And once he did, he wanted to scream even louder than Sam had just seconds before.

It was a realization that pulled the floor out from under Dean's feet.

Sam thought he was dead.

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**TBC...**

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Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks a lot for all the great reviews!

Here you go with the next chapter.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 2**

Sam thought he was dead.

Which didn't make sense because Dean didn't think he was dead. In fact, he was fairly sure that he wasn't dead. After all, he had died once before, and while he didn't remember all that much about the actual process of dying, he was sure that back then it had been different.

Besides, he was still here, in his body, his mind working just fine. Most importantly, he wasn't back to frying in hell, which was where Dean was sure he was headed once he kicked the bucket again. But he wasn't in hell.

So for now he was going with the theory that he was still alive. Which still left him with the problem that for some reason Sam thought he was dead. Whatever that witch had done to him, he obviously no longer had a pulse that could be felt, even though he was fairly sure that his heart was still beating. And Sam couldn't discern his breathing anymore, either, but Dean was sure that he was still breathing in some way. There were no signs of suffocation, nothing. So he was alive, but whatever that witch had done to him made him appear dead.

The fact that he could only stare ahead without focus, eyes unblinking, probably didn't help the situation any.

And it was the perfect explanation as to why Sam was clinging to him like he was, pulling him against Sam's shoulder in an awkward and desperate embrace, rocking them both back and forth in time with the big, heaving sobs that coursed through him. Sam was falling apart, the grip of his hands on Dean so desperate that it was painful and bruising.

But that wasn't the worst.

No, the worst was that Dean could do nothing but lean against his brother, listening to the sound of Sam's sobs, feeling them shudder through his own body where it was pressed flush against Sam's. He could do nothing against the death-grip Sam had on his hair, smothering his face into Sam's shoulder as his brother breathed and cried and sobbed into Dean's hair.

That was worst.

Sam falling apart, without reason and without a way for Dean to communicate that he was alive. Being able to do absolutely nothing in the face of his brother's pain, that was the worst. It seemed that some sort of floodgate had opened inside of Sam, and whatever he was going through right now was not going to be over soon. Dean didn't think it would be. He still remembered, vividly, what it had been like to hold his dying brother in his arms in Cold Oak. Back then, he had clung to Sam for what felt like hours, refusing to let go of him, snarling and lashing out at Bobby every time the older man had tried to gently but gruffly pull Dean back into the harsh reality of a world without his brother.

No, Dean didn't think it was going to be over anytime soon.

There was nothing Dean could do about it either, and that hurt more than the stab wound in his side and the pain in his chest from Sam's CPR. Sam was hurting without reason, and Dean was unable to do his job and save his brother from the unnecessary hurt. The big brother in him longed to make things all right, to fix things for Sam, but he couldn't because this time he was the one who needed fixing.

This sucked.

Dean was freezing, and the constant rocking motion let the pain from his wound flare up again and again. Water was seeping into the back of his jeans now, too, making him feel wet, clammy and uncomfortable all over. His legs were folded at an awkward angle, his left butt cheek was asleep and a pointy rock was digging painfully into his thigh every time Sam moved backwards and pulled Dean along with him.

Until it all stopped.

And that was the most shocking thing, probably. There was no gradual lessening of the signs and sounds of Sam's despair. Instead, it was as if Sam told himself from one moment to the next to get a grip on himself. The rocking motion stopped, and Sam silently clung to Dean for a few seconds longer, pressing his brother's face more tightly into his shoulder. And that total absence of the sounds of Sam's overwhelmed grief scared Dean more than the loud sobbing had.

Sam sniffed loudly, a none-too appetizing sound right next to Dean's ear, then the hold of Sam's hands on him suddenly moved.

Once more, Dean was absolutely helpless to do anything to either help or stop as Sam manhandled him around. Occasional sniffs were all that broke the silence as the world shifted upside down and Dean found himself hanging uncomfortably from his brother's shoulder. This position was more comfortable for Sam, of course. The most practical way to get him to the car, and the car wasn't exactly close. And if Dean were unconscious or – as Sam suspected – dead, then it wouldn't matter much.

But as it was, he was conscious. And it hurt.

Being folded over his brother's shoulder tore at the stab wound in his side, and it put pressure on his chest that still hurt from Sam's freakishly powerful CPR earlier on. With every step Sam took Dean was jostled around, arms hanging limply over his head and down Sam's back. Sam himself was entirely silent now, the sound of his ragged breathing and the twigs breaking underneath his boots the only things breaking the silence. A few times, Sam stumbled over something on the uneven ground, staggering under Dean's weight. Whenever that happened, Sam's grip around Dean's thighs tightened and his next steps were especially deliberate and careful, as if he was afraid that dropping Dean was going to make it worse.

Which it wouldn't if Dean was truly dead. But right now? Dean was kinda grateful for it.

Finally, after an eternity of hanging over his brother's shoulder, being jostled around while watching the ground underneath him move, the forest floor gave way to gravel. Dean was grateful, because the moving and swaying had made him nauseous, adding yet another feeling of discomfort to the seemingly never-ending list. Eventually, Sam stopped walking.

What followed was another very awkward moment, and really, Dean had thought nothing else could top the awkward list today after that CPR incident.

Sam lowered him to the ground, carefully putting him down on his back, and started patting him down. First his brother's hands rummaged through the pockets of his leather jacket, and when he didn't find what he was looking for there, Sam's hands moved down to his jeans.

Whoa.

Hold it right there.

Way too close for comfort, Sammy.

But there was no way Dean could voice his discomfort, and no way he could stop his brother's hands from digging into his jeans pockets and rummaging around.

What the…?

Keys.

Right. That actually made sense.

As Sam pulled out the car keys, Dean suddenly understood what the body-search had been for. He should have really given Sam an own set of car keys by now. He was deriving occasionally, after all. And it would definitely spare them awkward moments like this.

Sam unlocked the car and almost too carefully picked Dean up again. It was awkward, Sam with his 6'4'' frame trying to move Dean into the backseat, but to Dean's surprise he managed to do so rather smoothly. Dean ended up leaning against the door on the passenger side, his feet on the seat dripping mud and water all over the seats. Normally he would have ripped Sam a new one for that, but it wasn't as if he could do much about it right now. Besides, he really had more important problems to deal with than the seats of his car getting dirty.

Before Sam closed the back door, he shrugged out of his jacket, leaned into the car again and carefully tucked it around his brother. For some reason, that gesture made Dean's eyes burn, and the sensation had nothing to do with going without blinking for so long. For one, the jacket was warm. It wasn't a thick jacket by a long shot, but it felt so warm against his cold skin and wet clothes. And the jacket smelled of Sam. Which was wussy and stupid, seeing that Sam was just a few inches away, climbing into the driver's seat and starting the engine. But right now, unable to move, even that was too far away for Dean. The jacket might be a poor substitute, but it was a substitute. One Dean could settle on for now.

Especially since he couldn't see Sam from his current position. He heard the sound of the car's engine, he felt every curve and bend in the road that Sam followed, but he couldn't see Sam. And neither could he hear his brother. No, all he heard was the Impala's rumbling engine and silence from his brother. And right now, not even the sweet purr of his baby's smooth engine was able to soothe Dean and his rising worry.

Sam was too silent. Too composed. Too…Dean didn't even know what. But it scared him, more than he wanted to admit.

The drive took a bit more than twenty minutes. Dean saw the scenery pass by the window on the passenger side – the fields and trees, and then the first houses as Sam steered them back towards the small motel they were staying in. Sam pulled into a slot in front of their room, the engine fell silent, and for some long, endless minutes, nothing happened.

Nothing. No movement, no sound, just nothing.

Dean was getting antsy, and worried. If he didn't know what was going on, he didn't know what he was up against. And right now he had no idea what Sam was doing there in the driver's seat. For all the silence in the car, Sam couldn't be doing much else but sit there and stare. He wasn't even moving. No more sobbing, no more ragged breathing. In fact, Dean could only hear Sam breathing when he strained his ears to listen over the beating of his own heart.

Hold on a second!

Beating of his own heart?

His heart was beating?

If his heart was beating, then why hadn't Sam felt a pulse earlier?

But Dean was so sure that he had felt his heart beat just now as he strained to hear for any sound from the driver's seat, and how could you be wrong about that? People weren't wrong about the beating of their own heart, they simply weren't. So Dean listened, really _listened_ and focused on nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat. Or rather, the silence where his own heartbeat was supposed to be. Why hadn't he noticed this earlier?

Because he had been scared, and then Sam had been there, and there simply hadn't been any time for it. That's why. And honestly, your own heartbeat wasn't something you listened for very often, even if there was a witch doing crazy, paralyzing things to you. Much less if your brother was busy squeezing the life out of you performing CPR. But now Dean listened to nothing but the sounds of his own body. With the lack of sound of the forest or the car around him, it was all he could do, anyway.

And there was no heartbeat. How scary was that when you couldn't feel your own heartbeat but simply _knew_ you were alive?

_Thud-thud_

There!

This time, Dean was sure. He had felt it. It was weak, but it was there. Dean had felt it, he had heard it, and had heard the resulting rush of blood in his ears. His heart was still beating. Only…it wasn't. Because that one reassuring thud of his heart was followed by nothing. In his head, Dean counted the seconds that passed after that one lonely heartbeat.

One Mississippi…

…two Mississippi…

…three Mississippi…

At fifty-two Mississippi, he felt it again. Weak, barely a flutter inside his own chest. But a heartbeat. A heartbeat! How could someone survive if their heart was only beating once a minute? How could he be entirely conscious yet his body was pretty much dead? What had that nasty bitch done to him?

If his heartbeat was already this slow, it was no small wonder Sam had missed it earlier. And it would explain why Dean didn't notice his own breaths even though he knew he had to be breathing. If his heart was already beating this slowly, who knew what was wrong with his breathing.

This was seriously f-ed up.

Two more barely perceptible beats of Dean's heart passed before the driver's side door creaked into the stillness as it opened and the car shifted as Sam got out. He walked around the car, opened the back door and simply stood there, stooped over and looking at Dean with an expression on his face that made something inside of Dean shatter. Sam's gaze was empty. Not grieving, pained, angry or anything else, but _empty_.

Sam had shut down, and that scared Dean far more than any other reaction could have. Shutting down wasn't Sam. Sam was all about wearing his heart on a sleeve. Maybe not to the world, but to Dean he was an open book. Had been an open book at least, before the whole Hell thing happened and screwed things up between them. But the Sam Dean knew, the Sam which Dean knew was still inside that angry, hardened young man his brother had become, _that_ Sam didn't just shut down. Sam couldn't hide his emotions even if he tried. And that he seemed so…so _blank_ right now just wasn't right.

Sam stared emptily at Dean for a long moment, then he bent forward and started to move Dean out of the car. And Dean learned one lesson very quickly – getting out was much less smooth than getting into the car had been. There was lot of pulling and tearing and pain shooting through his body involved until Dean was settled back over Sam's shoulder and his brother carried him into the motel room.

Dean didn't even want to know what it had to look like, Sam dragging him across the parking lot and into the motel room. They had had their fair share of interesting arrivals at motel rooms before, but mostly their line of work at least allowed them to drag their injured bodies back to where they could patch themselves up under the cover of night. Not in broad daylight like this.

But Sam didn't seem to care who saw them or not, at least not as far as Dean could judge slung over his brother's shoulder as he was. Sam stopped to unlock the motel room door, then Dean was treated a full view of the world's most hideous carpet as Sam carried him across the room. Gently, much too gently Sam put Dean down on the bed, putting him flat on the mattress, atop the comforter, with his head on the pillow. Just as if he had just lain down for a nap.

The pillow kept Dean's head at a slight angle, and that was one thing he was glad for. Instead of staring up at the ceiling, he could at least see part of the room now. His field of vision was limited, but it was enough to see Sam sink down on the bed beside him, head in his hands, fingers pulling at his own hair as if trying to pull it out.

Come on Sammy.

Do something.

Say something.

Anything.

Dean wanted to scream in frustration at his utter inability to do anything about this situation. The silence in the room was suffocating, making all other sounds seem incredibly and unbearably loud – the background hum of the AC, the leaky faucet in the bathroom dripping water into the sink, the distant noise of the traffic on the road that ran behind the motel. All those sounds, and more that he couldn't discern.

But nothing from Sam.

Nothing at all.

Dean wanted nothing more than be able to turn around and tell Sam to finally say something, do something, _anything_. But this silence was unnerving him. It left too much room for thought, too much worry about what was going on in Sam's head at the moment.

Sam wasn't one to falter and withdraw into himself when faced with…well, whatever you called this. A problem might be too weak a word. Definitely was, come to think of it. But Sam should be pacing right now, he should be yelling, crying, arguing, trying to call people to help with the situation. Anything.

Most of all, Dean wanted for Sam to figure out that he wasn't dead before his brother broke even worse than he already was. He needed Sam to figure this whole mess out, and quite selfishly he didn't only need Sam to do that for Sam's sake. No, Dean needed Sam to figure this out because if he didn't, Dean was screwed.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting – nine more weak heartbeats, to be precise, because now that Dean had first consciously noticed them there was no way he could _not_ keep track of them – Sam moved. He breathed a sigh, one of those big, heaving sighs that didn't stem from relief, but from sorrow far too big to handle. Then Sam moved. Dean couldn't see him that clearly, but when he heard the soft beeping from the direction of the other bed he had no problem figuring out what his brother was doing.

And Dean breathed a silent, breathless sigh of his own, this one of relief.

Sam was calling someone. And that was the first good piece of news since this whole frigging mess had started. Someone else would be able to help. Someone else here meant that Sam wasn't going to be alone. Calling someone else was good.

Sam scrolled through his list of contacts and dialed a number, and in the silence of the room Dean could hear the ring of the phone in Sam's earpiece. It was picked up after the second ring, and Dean would have recognized the gruff, deep voice anywhere. It didn't matter that he didn't understand what the other man was saying to Sam, there was no doubting who it could be.

"Bobby."

The first word Sam had said in an eternity, and those two syllables were more than enough to show how _wrong_ everything was. Sam's voice was deep, gravelly, like something hoarse had been dragged over his vocal chords. Not Sam's voice. A stranger's voice. A stranger who felt his whole world come crashing down around him.

Bobby said something then, his voice urgent, although Dean couldn't understand what. But he knew how frantic _he_ would have been upon hearing his brother sound like that, and he knew that Bobby wouldn't fare much different.

Sam shifted on the bed, uncomfortable, searching for the right words.

"The hunt went wrong, Bobby."

Well, that was one way to put it. And it could mean everything and nothing. Not the precise way of relaying information that their father had taught them. It took a moment, but Dean realized that Sam was trying to evade speaking it out, was hoping for Bobby to know what was going on without him actually having to speak the words. He knew how that felt. After Cold Oak, Dean had been unable to say the word _dead_, too. He hadn't even been able to think it.

Bobby was speaking again, longer and a slight bit harsher than before. Sam only listened, and then there was silence for a few long seconds. Too long for Bobby, and this time Dean could clearly make out the older man's barked "Sam" even though the phone was pressed against Sam's ear.

Sam drew a deep, shaky breath, and then the words just tumbled out. Slowly at first, but then picking up speed as if Sam was afraid that if he stopped speaking, he'd forget how to do it.

"Dean is…Bobby, that witch got to him, or…I don't know what happened. I have no idea what happened. We split up, and when after an hour I hadn't found anything and hadn't heard from him, I started looking for him. That witch must have gotten to him, I don't know what happened. But when I found him he had lost a lot of blood, he wasn't breathing, and he had no pulse and…I tried CPR, Bobby. I _tried_, I really did. But he…I kept trying. But I couldn't save him. I couldn't do anything. I should have looked for him sooner, but I didn't and now he's…I don't know what to do, Bobby. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

Dean's throat suddenly felt uncomfortably tight, and he wanted to yell at Sam that none of this was his fault. It was Dean's fault alone that he hadn't heard that witch sneak up on him, and everything that had happened afterwards wasn't Sam's fault either. And he wasn't dead. That was the most important thing he wanted Sam to understand. He wasn't dead. But he couldn't say it, or make Sam understand in any other way.

Bobby on the other hand could still talk, and Dean heard the older man speak to Sam over the phone. Dean had no idea how much of what Bobby said actually reached his brother, but he heard how Bobby's voice had taken on a lower, calmer tone. Sam drew a shaky, slightly sobbing breath, running a hand through his hair and over his face.

"Pinewood, Minnesota," he finally rasped out. "Bluebird Motel, room 19."

Bobby was coming.

Bobby was going to find a way to fix this, they only had to hold out until Bobby got here. Dean was sure that between the both of them, Sam and Bobby were going to figure out that he wasn't dead at all. And Sam wasn't going to be alone anymore.

Bobby said something else, which had Sam nodding again.

"Yeah. Thanks, Bobby. I don't know what I'd do…"

Bobby cut off the thanks, voice back to the slightly gruff tone that Dean knew was covering the man's own emotions. Sam drew another of those shaky breaths that made Dean want to forget that his brother was no longer the little kid he had once been, and do his best to chase the nightmares away. But that wasn't going to do any good for as long as he couldn't speak, or move, or even blink.

"Okay." Sam was about to end the conversation, but then he took another breath. "I…"

He broke off, and after another few seconds of silence, Bobby's voice sounded again, in a questioning tone this time.

"Nothing Bobby. I…I'm glad you're coming."

It wasn't what Sam had wanted to say. Dean knew it instinctively, and he had the feeling Bobby did, too. But the older man ended the conversation without further questioning, and Sam let the phone sink from his ear with another deep sigh.

"I can't do this again."

That was what Sam had wanted to tell Bobby on the phone but hadn't brought out. And the whispered words were like a sucker-punch to Dean's gut, worse than the pain from the stab wound in his side and the bruises on his chest. Far worse.

Dean wanted to slap himself for not realizing earlier how much worse than he had imagined this had to be for Sam. So much worse. Because Sam had been through this before, and Dean hadn't really considered it until now. He remembered the hell hound, the seconds before his death, and then he had woken up in a casket. The time in between? Well, for him it had been decades in Hell. But he hadn't once considered that Sam had been left to deal with the fallout.

After his death Sam had been left to deal with what the hellhounds had left over of his body. Dean had died bloody in New Harmony, Indiana, and had woken up cleaned up and in different clothes in a casket in Pontiac, Illinois. Dean had no idea what had happened in between that, but Sam had been dealing with it all. Before Ruby, and the freaky mind-exorcisms, before Sam had turned into the brother Dean could no longer relate to like he used to. Before all that, Sam had been left to deal with Dean's death, with his body, and the ugly cleanup.

Just like he thought he was now.

The sound of Sam dialing another number tore Dean out of his musings. And an icy feeling that had nothing to do with his sodden clothes was settling in the pit of his stomach. Sam had already called Bobby, he shouldn't be calling anybody else. There was nobody else to call.

Except there was, and Dean knew it even before Sam spoke.

"Ruby? It's Sam." Sam's voice was more controlled now, less gravelly and sounding more like himself. Like he was struggling hard to keep himself together. "Pinewood, Minnesota. I need you to come here right now. The Bluebird Motel, room 19."

Ruby said something, Dean could hear it, but Sam cut her off. "Just get here as fast as you can."

Sam ended the phone call and by the sound of it tossed his cell phone onto the bed beside him. And Dean didn't know what he was supposed to think now. What he was supposed to feel. Sam had called Bobby, their old family friend, one of the few people they implicitly trusted. Dean got that. But then Sam had called _Ruby_, and the fact that his brother called that demon and all but ordered her to come to his side, not even an hour after allegedly finding out that Dean was dead…it hurt. There were no other words to describe it. It hurt. Sam needing Bobby by his side was something Dean could understand, that he could relate to.

That Sam called Ruby? Dean didn't want to be able to relate to that. And he knew he'd never understand it. He only knew that it worried him.

Another weary sigh broke the silence of the room, and Dean swore that if he had to hear one more of those he…well, he probably wasn't going to do much. Mentally roll his eyes and get even more frustrated, probably. That was about the only thing he still could do.

The bedsprings creaked as Sam got up from his perch on the other mattress, and a few seconds later Dean felt the mattress on his bed dip as Sam sat down beside his hip. He was fully in Dean's line of vision now, and Dean didn't like what he saw. The earlier blankness in Sam's eyes had been replaced by a mixture of bone-deep sadness and – even worse – defeat. It was a look that had no business being in his little brother's eyes.

"God, Dean."

Sam leaned forward, one large palm barely brushing over Dean's cheek. The contact was fleeting, but Dean wanted to moan at the warmth grazing his icy skin. He wanted to lean in to the touch and trap the warmth, but before he knew it, Sam had pulled his hand away.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered, and Dean had no idea what he was apologizing for. There were just too many things, far too many things Sam could be talking about – the hunt gone wrong, everything that had been said and done over the past weeks and months, their screwed up lives, everything. None of those was anything Sam needed to apologize for.

But maybe Sam was apologizing for what he was about to do next, because suddenly Dean felt himself moved around again as Sam shrugged him out of his leather jacket. Sam tried to be gentle, Dean knew he did, but that didn't change the fact that every movement sent new sharp bursts of pain through his injured side. Sam had pulled him up into a sitting position, leaning forward against his brother's shoulder as he made short work of the jacket and started shrugging him out of his shirt. Dried blood glued the fabric to the wound in Dean's side, and no amount of gentleness could stop the flames of agony shooting through Dean's body as Sam peeled the fabric away.

In his head, Dean was screaming.

Screaming normally was a great way to distract himself from pain, but it only worked if he was able to actually _scream_. Dean wasn't, not outside his head. And the pain was blinding. So blinding in fact that Dean wasn't even aware of the only advantage of Sam shifting around until it was gone. Sam slowly put Dean back down on the bed again, withdrawing what little warmth Dean had been able to absorb and leaving him feeling cold and clammy again.

And then Sam reached for Dean's jeans.

Whoa!

Sam's fingers struggled to open the button of his jeans, and Dean was ready and willing to kick and struggle his way out of this situation. Really. After the CPR and the earlier rummaging around in his pockets, Sam had obviously found a way to top the awkward list for today. On the one hand, Dean really wanted to get out of his wet and clammy jeans, but on the other hand…

Hands, that was the keyword here. Sam's hands were pretty close to going places Dean absolutely didn't want them to go, and he had no way to stop him. Of course, after living as close together as they had for so long, shyness was not the point. There was nothing Sam hadn't seen before. But most times when he had needed his brother to help him dress or undress, he had been too drunk or hurt to care. Right now he was fully conscious and would appreciate it if Sam kept his hands to himself.

Or at least left him his underpants.

Maybe Sam's freaky ESP thing was working unconsciously, because while he struggled Dean out of his soggy and dirty jeans, he left the boxers where they were. He merely dropped the wet clothes on the floor in front of the bed along with Dean's dirty boots. Dean didn't know what Sam was planning to do next, but he felt the warmth of his brother's hand a split second before he made contact with his skin. Sam was inspecting the wound in Dean's side, trying to gauge depth and its seriousness. Just as if he was preparing to sew it up.

Please Sam, don't even think about _that_.

Dean didn't think he could stand his brother placing stitches in his side, not without at least some whiskey to dull the pain. Not when he was already hurting every time Sam shifted him around. Not if he wasn't even able to scream, or to let Sam know how much he hurt.

But Sam didn't make any move to start stitching him up.

In fact, Sam didn't make any move at all.

He just sat there, one hand on Dean's side just beside the wound, and stared. Stared down at Dean, at the blood on his skin and the stab wound in his side. But Sam's eyes were distant, as if he was looking at something else entirely. Something in his mind, and judged by the expression on his face, something he had hoped never to see again.

Sam's eyes widened suddenly, from one moment to the next, and what little color was left drained from his face as he stumbled to his feet and vanished from Dean's field of vision. Just a second later the sound of retching and bile hitting porcelain sounded from the bathroom.

God, Sammy.

The retching soon gave way to the sounds of dry heaving, but that didn't make anything better. On the contrary, hearing his little brother heave like that, sounds that resembled choked sobs more than anything else, and being able to do absolutely nothing about it was like punishment. And maybe Dean had earned punishment, but Sam hadn't earned to suffer like that. No matter what had happened between them, Sam hadn't earned this.

Not Sam.

After the retching came silence. And just like earlier, the silence was far worse than anything else, no matter how much Dean had wished for the retching to stop. Silence could mean anything – Sam could have broken down, could be unconscious, hell he could be holding a gun to his head for all Dean knew. Silence wasn't good. And so Dean did the only thing he still could do – he listened, and counted his feeble heartbeats.

Six too slow, too silent _thud-thuds_ of his heart passed before there was movement in the bathroom and the sound of water running. But Dean was only able to relax a little when Sam came back into the room, pale, face slick with sweat and shaking slightly, but probably as well as he could be for the moment. He was carrying a towel and their small medical kit in his hands, and Dean couldn't help that renewed flash of fear that his brother was going to stitch him up now, without any painkillers to take the edge off the pain.

But Sam did no such thing. Instead, he used the wet towel to carefully wipe the dirt and dried blood from the skin around his wound in careful and gentle, almost tender movement. Then he taped a square of gauze over the cut in Dean' side. It was a futile gesture considering that Sam thought Dean was dead. No gauze would help a dead man's wound, a wound that wasn't going to heal. But for some reason it was another of those things that made Dean's eyes water, just like Sam covering him with his jacket had earlier.

Great.

He was a wuss.

There was no other explanation, because seriously, how much did it suck to get all teary over something like a square of gauze taped over a stab-wound? Right. It sucked royally. He was no frigging child. He just couldn't move a muscle and was as weak as a newborn kitten right now, but all that would be over as soon as Bobby arrived and he and Sam figured out a way to undo whatever that witch had done to him.

Speaking of which…

There was one thing about his condition Dean was sure about now. He couldn't lose consciousness, neither from pain nor from sheer embarrassment. Which sucked just as much as the whole rest of this mess did.

After covering the wound, Sam dressed him in a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt. More movement, more of Sam's hands in places where Dean would rather not have them. More pain.

And once that was done, just as Dean sank back into the mattress and thought it was over, Sam did the worst thing he could do. One large palm suddenly blocked out the light and before Dean knew what was happening, everything turned dark. Sam's palm lingered on his face for a few seconds, but not even the warmth on Dean's cold skin was enough to quell the rising panic.

Seeing and hearing were the only two things he had left, if Sam took away half of that…

But there was nothing Dean could do as Sam's hand moved away and the darkness remained. Dean strained his ears, listening even harder as if to compensate for the sudden loss of one of his remaining senses. Having his lids closed after being unable to blink for so long was a blessing, a relief he hadn't even known he needed. But the relief didn't outweigh the fear that came with losing his sight.

For as long as he had been able to at least see Sam, Dean could have held on to the hope that things were going to be all right again. Now he couldn't even watch his brother anymore. He could only listen.

"I'm so sorry, Dean."

A sniff, followed by slight movement as Sam shifted on the mattress. Then nothing.

Nothing but silence.

If it weren't for the soft sound of Sam's breathing, Dean wouldn't even have known that his brother was still there. But Sam was sitting right there, a mere few inches away but just out of reach. Close enough to touch but making no move to bridge the distance. Silently, even though for once Dean had no choice but to listen to everything Sam had to say.

The silence was so oppressing, so _loud_, that Dean thought his head was going to explode from the sheer pressure of it. But nothing happened. For twenty-eight eternally long heartbeats, there was nothing but darkness and silence.

Twenty-eight heartbeats until there was a knock on the door.

At first, Sam didn't react, and Dean got worried that something was wrong with him. Surely Sam couldn't be asleep. There was another knock, more insistent this time, and Sam sighed. Something inside of Dean unclenched at the sound, the small piece of proof that Sam was still all right for now, or at least functioning. Sam got up then, and the angle of the mattress without his weight dipping it down suddenly seemed wrong.

Everything seemed wrong, because Dean knew for sure that it wasn't Bobby who was standing in front of that door. Bobby was at least three more hours away, there was no way he could have made it here this fast. Which only left one possible choice who it could be. Well, two actually, but Dean was pretty sure it wasn't the maid.

So he wasn't surprised when the first thing he heard after the sound of the door opening was Ruby's voice. The only thing he was surprised about was that she had been here so fast. If she had been so close, did that mean that she had been following them? Or had Sam known that she was around?

"What's going on Sam? Why do you all but order me to come here into the middle of nowhere when you know exactly…"

"Come in, Ruby."

"What is going on?"

"Come in." Sam's voice was sharper now, and much to Dean's surprise Ruby followed his order. There was the sound of steps and the closing door, and after a second, a startled gasp.

"Sam?"

"The hunt went wrong."

Steps were approaching the bed now, steps which didn't belong to Sam.

"Wrong? Sam, this…Dean, is he…"

"It was the witch," Sam interrupted before Ruby could finish her sentence. "We were hunting a witch, in the woods. She…I don't know what happened. When I found him she was already gone. I was too late."

Sam's voice broke into a choked sob that he couldn't hold back over the last syllable, and Dean heard Ruby's steps move away from him again, hurriedly this time.

"Oh Sam."

Up until this moment, Dean hadn't known that you could _hear_ an embrace, but right now he didn't need to see what was happening to know that Ruby had walked over to Sam's side. There was the rustling of clothes as they moved, the sound of hands clasping something, and more of Sam's silent sobs, muffled against something. Ruby's shoulder probably, if Sam bent down low enough.

And the mere thought that this was happening just a couple of feet away from him enraged Dean, and it would have sent his heart pumping and his fury rising if he hadn't been under this damned paralyzing spell. Ruby wasn't supposed to comfort Sam. For as long as Dean was around, she had no business being anywhere _near_ Sam, let alone manipulate him or feed him any more of her poison while he was vulnerable.

Frankly, it wasn't her job to take care of Sam. Not now, and not ever. That was what Dean was there for, and he was going to do it no matter how far they drifted apart. Him. Nobody else. Especially not _her_.

But Dean could do nothing as Ruby pushed herself into the position that by all rights belonged to him. He could only wait until they broke apart, and Ruby asked the question Dean had been asking himself, too.

"What now, Sam?"

"I don't know. I called Bobby, he should be here in a few hours. Beyond that, I…Bobby will know what to do."

And Dean was surprised by Ruby's next words. He had expected her to disagree, to try and talk Sam into doing something before Bobby arrived to take charge of the situation. But instead, she agreed.

"That's good."

"He'll take another few hours, though."

"I'll stick around."

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh…thanks."

"No problem. And now go take a shower."

"What?"

Yeah, that was a good question. First Ruby played the whole consoling spiel, then she wanted to get Sam naked? Dean didn't even want to think about it, if he was honest.

"You're soaked, Sam. Your clothes are wet, you're muddy all over, you reek of vomit, and if you catch pneumonia now it won't help anybody. Take a shower, put on some dry clothes. Ten minutes, Sam. It won't take long."

Another moment of silence followed, then Sam sighed.

"You're right."

And while Dean agreed that Sam needed to look after himself, he hated the fact that his brother had caved in to Ruby's reasoning. What followed were sounds that Dean could identify without having to see what was happening. A zipper being pulled open, the sound of Sam rummaging around in a duffel bag searching for clean clothes.

"I'll just be a few minutes."

"I'll wait out here."

The next thing Dean heard was the sound of the bathroom door closing, and a few moments later the water in the adjourning room started to run. Sam was taking a shower, which left the question what Ruby was planning to do in the meantime. And Dean didn't have to wait long for the answer on that one.

Pretty much as soon as the water started running, Dean heard Ruby step up to the bed again. Her steps came closer and closer, until they finally halted right next to his head.

Dean wanted to jerk away, but he couldn't even move a single muscle when he suddenly felt Ruby's fingers on his face.

What the…?

A jerk at his eyelids, and suddenly darkness turned into light, so bright that his pupils contracted and his brain desperately sent the message to his eyes to start blinking, even though his eyelids didn't obey. After that first moment of blinding brightness, the room started to take on shape again – the stained ceiling above him, the ugly wall with the floral printing straight ahead, the TV just on the edge of his field of vision.

And Ruby's face, right in front of him, far too close for comfort. She looked at him for a few long seconds, and Dean started wondering what this was all about. Surely Ruby didn't want to have a heartfelt one-on-one in order to say her goodbyes. If anything, she should be glad thinking that he was out of the way now.

But then Ruby cocked her head to the side and a sly grin started to spread on her face.

"Witchcraft is a bitch, isn't it?" A laugh escaped her lips and she dragged a finger down the side of Dean's face, only increasing his urge to vomit. "Guess you drew the short straw this time, shortbus. But don't worry, I'll take care of Sammy while you're…incapacitated."

She patted his cheek, then took great care to close Dean's eyes again, leaving them open just a slight bit so that he could still make out most of what was going on around him. Another pat to Dean's cheek, then Ruby took a step back. In the bathroom, the water stopped running.

"If I were you, I'd pay good attention now. You might just learn an interesting thing or two about your brother, Dean."

And then it hit Dean, like a blow to the gut.

Ruby knew that he was still alive.

She knew it, and she hadn't told Sam a single word about it.

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*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*

**TBC...**

*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*

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Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

Wow, thanks so much for all the reviews guys. The amount of interest in and feedback for this story totally floors me. So here you go with chapter 3, hope you enjoy!

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**Chapter 3**

Nausea was a physical reaction Dean didn't think he was capable of in his current state. But that didn't change the fact that Dean felt sick to his stomach as Ruby ran her fingers down his face again. What was it with evil bitches and caressing his face? First the witch who had started this whole mess, now Ruby? He really preferred to chose who got to fondle his face himself, and normally he preferred it to be neither witches intent on killing him nor scheming demons.

Ruby straightened up and stepped away from the bed just as the bathroom door opened and Sam stepped back into the room. On the inside, Dean was screaming, yelling his lungs out at his brother to just open his eyes and see Ruby for the scheming bitch that she was. Sam was better than that, and the worst part was that Dean _knew_ his brother was better at reading people than that. Even if said people were demons. Their father had taught them better than that. And truly, Dean had fallen for Ruby too, trying to believe at least for a little while that she might be willing to help them. And Sam had been in a bad place when he had struck up their unholy alliance. But things were different now.

Things _should_ be different now.

Sam should be able to see behind Ruby's helpful façade and figure out who and what she really was.

Only, by now the trust between Sam and Ruby was long since established.

And Sam was in the same dark place again. Or at least he thought he was. Because of course Dean wasn't dead, but Sam didn't know that. Sam didn't know it, he didn't see it, and it was driving Dean mad that he could do nothing to push his brother along.

Ruby had left Dean' eyes open slightly, but it was hard to make out much through his tangled lashes. It definitely beat seeing nothing and have only his hearing to rely on, but it wasn't as if he could make out anything clearly. He could distinguish light and dark, and he could see movement as Sam passed his bed on his way out of the bathroom, but he couldn't make out any details.

But when somebody stepped up to his bed, Dean didn't need his eyes to know who it was. And not only because there were only two people in the room whose way of moving couldn't be more different. It was a presence Dean would know anywhere, one he didn't need to visually confirm. It was Sam who was looming over his bed, but not the threatening kind of looming. Sam could do that, no doubt, but never towards him. No matter how tall his little brother had grown, his height was never going to change the fact that Dean would always see his little brother first, and not the 6'4'' guy with the built of a bodybuilder.

Sam wasn't looming.

He was standing next to his bed, staring down at him silently, and again Dean didn't need to see to know the expression on his brother's face. Anguish, in one of its many Sam Winchester variants. Dean continued to scream in his mind, hoping against hope that maybe if only he screamed long enough, a sound would finally escape his lips and let his brother know that he wasn't dead.

"What happened, Sam?"

Ruby's voice interrupted the moment from across the room, and as if the spell was broken Sam straightened up and turned towards her.

"I told you, the hunt went wrong."

Sam's voice had taken on its earlier gravelly tone again, and Dean didn't like how flat it sounded. He didn't like it at all.

"That doesn't even begin to cut it, Sam. A hunt gone wrong? An injury is a hunt gone wrong. The bad thing getting away is a hunt gone wrong. _This_? This is a little beyond that."

Sam sighed wearily, and Dean heard the bedsprings creak as his brother sank down on the bed beside him. In this position Sam was just outside his line of vision, and the only thing Dean was able to make out was movement as Sam leaned forward with his arms resting on his legs.

"We found the case in the paper. Strange disappearances, people showing up dead for no obvious reasons. Some of them injured, some not, as if they had just dropped dead. At first we thought it was a creature, or maybe a spirit that was tied to the woods somehow. But it was a witch."

"How did you find out?"

Dean thought that if anyone knew how you found out you were dealing with a witch, it should be Ruby, but Sam didn't seem to question her right now. Sam not questioning Ruby had become normal by now. It was a big part of their problems.

"We looked at the places where the victims had been found, found some symbols carved into the trees. We figured it was some sort of woods witch who didn't want people to stray into her territory, so we looked for her hideout." Sam's flat retelling broke off for a second, and Dean could hear his brother draw a shaky breath. He knew what was going to come now, knew that Sam was beating himself up over the mistake they had made, and he had never felt this helpless before. It wasn't Sam's fault. Dean had called the shots on this one, it had been his decision to interrupt the hunt and not Sam's. Dean had been convinced that what they were doing had been the right thing, Sam had had nothing to do with it.

"We found an altar, deep in the woods. We needed to take the witch out quickly because people kept on disappearing, and we figured that if we destroyed the altar it would give us some more time to find the witch, time during which nobody else would get killed. It was a stupid mistake."

"Because the altar wasn't the source of the witch's power." Ruby said, her voice carefully neutral. Sam sighed again.

"No. Probably once was, but no longer. We destroyed the altar, then we researched the area more in depth, read through all the local legends to find out where exactly she could have holed up. We thought we had bought some time, that it would take her a little while to rebuilt her altar while we figured out a way to kill her. And then the next family got killed."

Dean felt a pang at his brother's words. Probably would for a long time, whenever he thought about that family. They had gone for a camping trip, and both parents and one of the two kids were dead now because he had misjudged the situation. This case was going to stay with him for a long time to come, Dean was sure of that. The family could still be alive, that nine year old would still have both his parents and his sister if he had researched the case more thoroughly.

Dean kept telling Sam that they couldn't save everybody, but he was lying through his teeth whenever he did. Because Dean couldn't settle on that for himself, so how was he supposed to make Sam believe it?

"There is a local legend about a spring in the woods with mystical powers. So we figured that if the witch didn't need the altar to draw her power from it, she probably drew it from the spring as such. The legend didn't give its location, so we split up to look for it."

"And then you wanted to do what? Destroy the spring? How were you going to plan on doing that, Sam?"

If that bitch didn't shut up soon, Dean was going to make her shut up. No mater that he couldn't move or even speak, he'd find a way to get around that. And if he developed psychic powers just to strangle Ruby with his thoughts, then this was the way it was going to be. Because Ruby wasn't going to add even more guilt to Sam's conscience. There hadn't been any other choice but to act fast and figure things out as they went, not with people dying nearly every day.

"We were going to figure something out," Sam snapped defensively, the first emotion that had entered his voice since he had started speaking. "But we didn't exactly have much time to think about what to do, all right? There's plenty of ways to desecrate a spring, or to destroy it as her source of power. But we needed to find it first. Splitting up was the mistake. We should have never done that. If I had been around, I could have helped Dean when he was attacked. I could have stopped her from…from doing this. We should have never split up. I should have looked for Dean sooner. That was the mistake."

Damn it, that was exactly what Dean hadn't wanted. Sam shouldn't beat himself up over a decision that at the time had been the only way to go. There had been no other choice but to split up with time running out on them, and Sam _knew_ that. It was Dean's fault alone that the witch had snuck up at him and had managed to stab him. Not Sam's.

"You didn't see how it happened?"

"No," Sam breathed out. "By the time I found Dean, he was…he had lost a lot of blood, and he wasn't breathing. The witch was gone."

"I'm sorry, Sam."

To Dean, Ruby didn't sound sorry at all, but he doubted that his brother was up to hearing any finer nuances right now.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Me too."

Silence fell over the room again. Sam was still sitting on the bed and Ruby was leaning against a cabinet across the room, neither of them speaking. The silence was oppressing, but it didn't surprise Dean in the least that it was Ruby who finally broke it.

"So what is going to happen now?"

Another beat of silence, followed by a creaking of the mattress as Sam shifted.

"What do you mean?"

Steps on the carpet as Ruby moved away from the cabinet against the wall, closer to the beds.

"What I mean is that in a few hours old man Singer is going to come here, and I'll be gone by then. I just need to know what is going to happen afterward."

"Afterward? After…what are you talking about?"

A long-suffering sigh escaped Ruby's lips, as if she had expected Sam to catch up with her meaning immediately.

"You're surely not going to stay in this motel room forever, Sam. Are you going to go with Singer, do you want to finish the job here, what are you going to do?"

"I…I have no idea."

And in all honestly, Dean was glad that Sam didn't have an instant plan for what to do in case of his demise. But he got a bad feeling from the mere fact that Ruby was asking Sam that particular question in the first place. Because it sounded as if Ruby had plans for Sam of her own, and that was something Dean wasn't going to just sit by and watch happening.

"Minneapolis was a bust."

Ruby's statement was followed by another few seconds of silence, as both Dean and obviously also Sam struggled to understand what the demon was talking about. The only thing Dean could think of was that if Ruby had been in Minneapolis, it would explain why she had been close by.

"What?" Sam finally rasped out.

"Minneapolis. The omens I went to check out yesterday. No demonic involvement, and definitely not connected to Lilith. I doubt she's ever been to Minneapolis."

"Wha…wait a second." Sam sounded surprised, and a little overwhelmed. "You're talking about _Lilith_? Now of all times?"

"I'm talking about the fact that she is still out there, Sam. I'm not expecting you to go hunting for her first thing tomorrow morning, but just because Dean is dead doesn't mean she's no longer a problem."

"_Just because_ Dean is dead? Just because?" Dean could make out movement again as Sam got up from his perch on the bed and approached Ruby. "Do you honestly think I'm going to waste just a thought on Lilith right now, after what happened to Dean?"

"No." Ruby's voice was eerily calm. Dean didn't know if she did that in order to make Sam calm down as well, or if she simply didn't care about his little brother's emotional turmoil. "I don't think you're in any shape to think about Lilith, let alone hunt her. But fact remains that she is still out there, Sam. She is still breaking seals, and if she isn't stopped soon, she's going to succeed in setting Lucifer free. I know that right now you think that doesn't matter, but I know that deep down you _know_ that we have to stop her before she succeeds."

Sam was breathing hard, and even though Dean couldn't see him clearly he could picture in his head how his brother was standing there, hand buried in his hair, trying to decide how to react.

"I can't think about this now."

Well, there was one thing to be thankful for. And Dean was. He was seriously afraid that Sam would end up tail spinning, even more perceptible to Ruby's seductions than he had been over the past month.

"I know, Sam. Not now. But soon, that's what you have to keep in mind. Time is running out quickly, and we haven't made much headway lately."

"Not now, Ruby. Let's just not talk about this now."

"We have to talk about it before I leave. I need to know where you stand, Sam."

And while Dean had to admit to himself that he was curious about his brother's answer to that, he wanted to slap Ruby for pressuring Sam like this. The demon was talking Sam into a corner, one from which he'd have no choice but to eventually agree with her, even if it was only to get her off his case. And Sam still didn't notice a thing about how he was manipulated. This was insane.

When Sam didn't answer, Ruby took a couple of steps towards them. Close enough to touch, Dean could make out that much from between his eyelashes. A low growl rose in his throat, but died before it ever reached his vocal chords.

"I've seen how you reacted the last time you lost your brother, Sam."

A strange sound that was half-sob and half-chuckle escaped Sam's throat at those words, and it wasn't lost on Dean how utterly fucked up their lives were that his brother got into the situation of losing him not only once, but twice.

"Yeah? Well, this is different."

"Really Sam? So you're telling me that this time you're going to keep it together, and not drop off the radar? This time you're not going to be hell-bent on revenge at whoever did this? This time you're not going to spend your days more drunk than sober, hunting after everything that crosses your way, hoping that one of the things you hunt is finally going to kill you? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Stop it, Ruby." Sam's voice was weak, but it touched something primal in Dean, something that made every fiber of his being scream with the urge to stop this, to step in front of Sam, to shield him from this.

"No Sam, I'm not going to stop it. Because the last time Dean died, by the time I found you, you were desperately trying to commit suicide by demon. And I can't let that happen again."

"Stop it!"

More angry now, and twenty-six years of big brother experience told Dean that they were rapidly approaching a big outburst, one of the kind that with Sam you should try to avoid at all costs. But Ruby was oblivious to that, or if she wasn't she plainly didn't care.

"I won't stop it, Sam. Because I know you're grieving, and you have every right to grieve, but right now we simply don't have the time for it. Right now we don't have the time to stop and take a break until you've pieced yourself together. There is one person who can defeat Lilith, and that person is you. But you can only do it if you don't fall apart now. Or do you want Lilith to succeed?"

"I don't care about Lilith!" Sam yelled, and even though Dean couldn't see him clearly he simply knew that his brother was standing there with his arms spread wide, making himself even taller than he already was.

"I don't care about Lilith, or the apocalypse, or the freaking end of the world, Ruby! Everything I care about, everything I _should_ have cared about these past months, is lying on this bed. And now he's dead! Now tell me why I should still give a damn about whether or not Lilith wins this war!"

Ruby took a step back then, and for a second there was only charged silence filling the room. Then the demon let out a long sigh.

"You're not seeing it now, and I don't fault you for it, but I'm talking about the apocalypse here. The end of the world as we all know it, the rise of Lucifer. It's bigger than Dean, bigger than you, me, than all of us. If we don't stop this, if we can't stop Lilith, it will be the end of it all."

"I don't care!"

Dean was overcome with yet another eerie feeling of déjà vu of the time when their roles had been reversed and it had been Sam lying dead on a mattress in front of him. Back then he too had thought that nothing, not even the end of the world, could compete with the pain he was feeling. But it was a degree of pain he never wanted his brother to feel, not again.

"You will have to, Sam. Not today, but very soon you will have to make up your mind about where you stand. We don't have much time left."

"So what, you're giving me a deadline here? I have one day to deal with the fact that Dean is dead and then you want me to help you find Lilith? I don't know how little Hell has left of your humanity, but it won't work like that."

"Whatever happened between Dean and you, there's no way to change it anymore. Nothing you can do to make it undone."

Ruby's voice was dripping with fake sympathy, and it made Dean want to gag. But Sam was in angry mode, and Dean knew that whenever that happened, it wasn't something that passed easily.

"That's exactly the point, Ruby! I can't make anything undone. Nothing! Do you know what the last thing I said to him was? Aside from talking about the hunt, the last personal thing I said to him? I told him that he was weak, that he was holding me back. I all but told him that I was better off without him."

Ruby harrumphed in the back of her throat.

"Be honest with yourself here, Sam. So you said these things to Dean. If you ask me, being honest with him for once before he died wasn't the worst thing you could have done."

"What…"

"Oh come on. Whatever you said to Dean, I'm sure it wasn't the first time you said that. I know for sure it wasn't the first time you complained that Dean was weak, and that he was holding you back. You complained about that more than once when we talked, if you care to remember."

And that was the blow to the gut Dean had been dreading ever since Ruby had shown up in the motel room. It came totally out of nowhere, and it hurt far worse than he would have thought. Dean had been convinced that nothing could feel worse than his own brother throwing those words at him, with all the resentment that had been showing on Sam's face at the time. But this, this was definitely worse.

Much worse.

Not only had Sam been thinking these things for a while before the siren had made him spit them out in Dean's face. No. The worst blow was that Sam had been talking about it with Ruby. With _Ruby_. For his whole life, Sam had always come to him with his problems and troubles. Even if it had been something about Dean that had bothered Sam. Sam had always come to him. He had always been honest with him.

And now Dean no longer was that one person Sam felt he could share his thoughts with. That was Ruby now. Dean knew that Hell had left him weak, that only a shadow of the person he once was had come back. But he had never wanted to bother Sam with that. He had never wanted to hold Sam back. He had only ever wanted to protect Sam, and joining forces with Ruby wasn't a road that led anywhere good. That was the only reason why Dean had tried to hold Sam back – because he didn't want Sam to get hurt. He had done it only for Sam, because he was worried about him and not sure he was doing the right thing.

But Sam thought he was weak. Sam thought he was a hindrance to what he wanted to do. And somehow, hearing Ruby say that Sam had voiced those things before hurt far worse than hearing Sam say the same thing under the siren's spell. And if he had already voiced those thoughts, what else had he thought about?

Dean was so caught up in his pain for a moment that he nearly missed his brother's next words.

"That was different."

And even Sam's voice sounded as if he didn't quite believe it himself.

"No Sam. It wasn't. From what you told me, it wasn't. Dean was holding you back, and you know that it's the truth. He was holding you back from using your abilities to get rid of Lilith, because your powers are something he can't control. He didn't understand what we are trying to do, and he didn't understand how and why we are trying to do this. And he was weak. Hell does that to you, Sam. Believe me. But faced with the end of the world, you either get over it and allow yourself to make a leap, or you let it break you. Dean didn't want to accept that there was another way to stop Lilith other than his. But there is, and you are the only one who can do it."

Sam sighed deeply, and then there was movement and a sudden resounding thud of a boot connecting with the solid surface of the second bed in the room.

"Don't…just don't. Leave it be, Ruby."

Sam sounded deflated, as if something during that last part of the conversation had taken all the fight out of him.

"All right. You know how to reach me. I'll be in town for the night, but there are some omens in Wichita that need checking out. I'll leave in the early afternoon. Call me."

Sam sighed, a sound that could be agreement or acknowledgement or nothing at all.

"You know how to reach me," Ruby repeated, then there were steps away from the bed. A moment later the door opened, then closed again. Silence. Ruby was gone, leaving only Sam and Dean in the room. Sam sighed again, world-weary and deep, and the bedsprings creaked again as he let himself sink back on the bed, perched on the edge of the mattress with his head leaning in his hands.

And then only silence.

Dean would swear that Sam didn't even move, and the only thing that broke the silence was an occasional slightly ragged breath from the direction of the other bed. Nothing else.

To say it was unsettling was an understatement. It scared Dean more than he was willing to admit. If Sam was ranting, throwing things, cursing the world – anything like that – Dean would be able to deal with it. Well, not that he was able to do much about it, but then at least he'd know what was going on inside of Sam. But this silence, the brooding, the wordless despair? He had no clue what he was up against, what was going on inside of Sam.

He could imagine, of course. But he didn't know. And there was not a single clue as to what Sam as thinking. It scared Dean.

The silence, most of all. He had never been able to deal well with silence. Not that he needed constant chatter either, but not being able to at least see Sam right now made the silence so much worse.

But silence was all there was. Dean had no way to know how much time passed. All he could do in the silence was lie on the bed and listen to his own faint and far in between heartbeats. He didn't count them, but each low _thud-thud_ reverberating weakly through his chest was a small reassurance, a faint sliver of hope that maybe this whole nightmare would turn out all right in the end.

It was all he had left to cling to. Hope.

And during those endless minutes, or maybe hours in which there was noting to listen to but his own heartbeat and Sam's occasional ragged breathing, Dean realized that hope might spring eternal, but it wasn't much to hold on to. Not really. It wasn't substantial enough, because the nagging fear remained that even if Bobby finally arrived, the older man might not figure out that Dean was still alive, either. And if that happened, he was screwed. Completely and utterly screwed.

The urgent knocking on the motel room door tore Dean out of his thoughts so abruptly that he would have jumped off the bed if he had only been able to move a single muscle. As it was he could only mentally jerk at the unexpected sound. Sam on the other hand jerked at the sudden knock on the door, jumping off the mattress even before the deep voice from the other side of the door called out.

"Sam, open up."

Bobby was here. For the past hours Dean had thought the relief at their old friend's appearance would be overwhelming, but he could feel his anticipation rise by the second. He still had trust in Bobby to figure this whole mess out, but he could not help but worry what would be if he didn't.

Sam walked over towards the door, way outside of Dean's limited field of vision, to open the door. He felt more than heard the door opening, wishing he could shiver from the cold draft of cold air that breezed into the room and made him uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was still cold.

"Bobby, I'm so glad you could come."

By the sounds of it, Bobby had drawn Sam into an embrace, patting his shoulder firmly for a moment before he released him. They came over towards his bed then, steps approaching slowly and halting at the foot end of the bed. Dean would have held his breath in anticipation if only he had known how. Bobby and Sam stared wordlessly at him for a few endless seconds, but what Dean waited for with mentally bated breath didn't happen.

Bobby didn't storm forward, exclaiming that Dean was still alive.

In fact, Bobby didn't say much of anything for a long while. And when he spoke, it absolutely wasn't what Dean wanted to hear.

"Tell me what happened."

And Dean heard chairs being pulled out, wood scratching over the carpet as Sam and Bobby sat down at the small table in their room. There was nothing Dean could do as Sam launched into another repetition of what had happened during the hunt, and earlier that day. Sam's voice wasn't quite as flat as it had been during his earlier retelling to Ruby, and there was a little more detail about the hunt in this version, from one hunter to another.

Bobby listened to what Sam told without interruption, even as Sam's voice caught slightly as he recounted how he had found Dean bleeding on the forest floor, and how he had brought him to the motel room. When Sam finished talking, the room fell silent once again.

Dean really hated silence.

So he was grateful when Bobby finally broke it. And when he heard what their old family friend said, Dean's heart would have sped up if only it had been able to.

"Sam, that doesn't make a lick of sense."

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SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*

**TBC...**

SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*

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Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	4. Chapter 4

Here you go with the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Dean felt hope flare up inside of him more strongly than he had since this whole mess had started. He had known that Bobby would figure out that he wasn't dead, and then this whole nightmare was going to be over soon. Not long now. Once they got this whole _dead but yet not crap_ sorted out, it wouldn't be long until Sam and Bobby figured out a way to get him back to normal.

"What do you mean, it doesn't make sense?" Sam asked, his voice sounding confused.

Bobby harrumphed in the back of his throat. "The witch, and what she did to Dean. It doesn't make any sense at all."

Mentally, Dean was holding his breath. It was a poor substitute for actually being physically able to hold his breath in anticipation, but it was all he was left with. He couldn't really see Bobby or his brother from his position on the bed, and being unable to do anything else he strained his ears and listened intently.

Bobby's instincts were already kicking in, which meant it couldn't be long now until the two figured out what had really happened. Sam only needed to catch up on Bobby's train of thought.

"Why? We're sure it was a woods witch. A very powerful one."

"Yeah. And what you said about all the other victims and what you found in the woods makes sense. Witches like that, they live secluded. She would want to keep people out of her territory, would see everyone who crosses into it as a threat. Woods witches, they don't want any interaction with humans unless they absolutely have to. So she wouldn't want to draw attention to the deaths, but would try to scare people away."

And that was one of the reasons why Dean hated witches. That, and the bodily fluids spewing everywhere, the slaughtering of small innocent animals, hidden hex bags, and the whole thing about the spell work. Witches were unpredictable, that's what they were. And a witch who thought that a certain part of the forest was her territory was even worse.

But Dean latched onto Bobby's train of thought like a man dying of thirst would latch to a bottle of water. Because the older man was right, what had happened to him didn't make sense, especially not compared to the way the other people around here had died. And if Sam hadn't been too caught up in his grief, he would have seen it, too.

"But that's what she did, Bobby. All the other deaths, they were inconspicuous. Nobody was suspecting foul play until we got here, and it was only the number of deaths that made us think it might be a case for us in the first place. All the victims died from what looked either like falls, accidents or animal attacks. If we hadn't found the symbols in the trees and the altar, we'd have probably dismissed this as nothing."

"But that's exactly it, Sam. All the other victims died of what looks like accidents and animal attacks. The witch takes great care to keep people out of the woods and not to draw attention to herself, but she stabs Dean? You said it was a stab wound, didn't you?"

Sam sighed, wearily. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

Dean didn't have to see to know the expression on Sam's face at that moment. Probably his little brother was rolling his eyes, too. They had both dealt with enough wounds in their life to be able to recognize a knife wound for what it was.

"Yes Bobby, I'm sure. Don't you think I've sewed up enough stab wounds in my life to know one when I see it? It was a clean cut…" Sam's voice broke for a moment, and the sound of him swallowing heavily before he continued carried all the way over to the bed. "A small blade, but it went in deep. He lost a lot of blood."

Come on Sammy,_ think._

Dean wanted to yell, wanted to pound his hands against the mattress, do anything to get out of the prison that his own body had become and just make his brother _think_ about what he was saying. Yes, there had been plenty of blood, but he hadn't bled out. Once his body was back to working normally the wound was going to need stitches to stop him from bleeding out, but there hadn't been enough blood. And with a clear head, Sam would have realized it.

"It still doesn't make sense, kid."

"Look Bobby, I don't know. Maybe Dean got too close to her, maybe he caught her unawares and she just reacted. I have no clue what went down, but what happened…it can only have been the witch. What else should have done this to him?"

"I'm not saying it wasn't the witch, I'm just saying that it doesn't make sense, is all."

Sam snorted humorlessly. "Tell me about it. Things stopped making sense a long time ago."

A chair moved across the floorboards, then steps approached the bed. Not Sam's steps, Dean immediately noticed. It was Bobby's heavy tread that as coming towards him until the older hunter stopped next to his feet.

"So she got him with a knife into the side?"

"Yeah."

Another chair moving, and this time it was Sam who stepped up towards the bed and back into Dean's line of vision. Sam looked weary. Not just tired, but exhausted to the bones, as if the small distance between the table and the bed had taken all the strength out of him. He stood beside the bed for a moment, then Dean felt the mattress dipped again as Sam sat down on its very edge.

"In his right side."

There were fingers tugging at the hem of Dean's t-shirt, pulling it up to expose the gauze covering the injury.

"She must have gotten him from the side, probably from behind."

Sam's finger brushed against Dean's side as he illustrated the path the knife must have taken. It wasn't a forceful movement, not by a long shot, but it was enough to send a new wave of pain and agony through Dean's body. He wanted to scream and bat Sam's hand away, but he was helpless like a newborn child, unable to even protect himself from the pain.

The finger withdrew and Sam sighed deeply. "The wound didn't look that bad, but with the amount of blood he lost…I don't know, maybe she hit the lung, or an artery. Or the spinal chord, like Jake did when he stabbed me."

And now Dean knew that Sam wasn't thinking clearly. If he was thinking at all.

The knife had definitely hit something that bled badly, but if it had hit the lung, Dean would have been spewing blood. He'd have coughed and frigging breathed blood, it would be all over his face, and Sam _knew_ that. And Dean didn't even want to imagine what a knife had to look like that was able to cut through his spinal chord from that angle.

If Sam only _thought_ about that for a moment, he'd realize that it just couldn't be.

But it wasn't Sam, but Bobby who had taken over the thinking for both of them right now.

"He'd be even more of a mess if she had punctured his lung. If there was as much blood as you said, she probably cut through an artery. No amount of CPR could have helped him then."

No. No, no, _no_! That so wasn't what Bobby was supposed to say now. Bobby was supposed to question that Sam was right about how much blood there had been, not just take Sam's word for it. Dean depended on Bobby figuring out that Sam was wrong.

His life depended on it.

"We shouldn't have split up, then all this wouldn't have happened."

"No way you could have known it, Sam. We all know what a hunt is like, sometimes you simply have no choice but to split up to get it done as quickly as you have to. This is not your fault."

Another soul-deep sigh. "It feels different."

Through his tangled lashes, Dean saw blurrily how Bobby clasped Sam's shoulder and silently squeezed it. For some long moments, nothing happened. Dean would have averted his eyes if he could have. He didn't want to see Sam in this much pain. He didn't want to see his brother despair like that, especially not if it was totally unnecessary.

The silence seemed to grow around them, until Dean felt it pressing down like a heavy, suffocating weight. He couldn't deal with the silence. He only had his hearing and his limited vision to know what was going on around him, to know what was going on with Sam. He needed to hear something. So he was eternally grateful when Bobby withdrew his hand from Sam's shoulder and broke the silence.

"You probably don't want to hear this right now, but that witch needs to be dealt with. Quickly."

Another few seconds of silence, then Sam sighed again. "I know."

But he didn't care, that was obvious in his voice. Dean didn't even need to listen closely to know that. Dean knew that Sam didn't care because in Cold Oak he hadn't cared either. With Sam's cold and dead body lying in front of him, Dean hadn't cared about the Yellow Eyed Demon, about his plans, about anything. He wouldn't have cared about the end of the world, so it didn't surprise him in the least that Sam didn't care about what happened to a single witch.

And he was also a little glad that his brother wasn't hell-bent on revenge for what that witch had done to him. If Sam lost his head he could get hurt, and that was the last thing Dean wanted.

Bobby took a step back from the bed, nearly out of Dean's line of vision again.

"That the research you did on the table?"

Sam nodded wearily, without looking up. "Yeah. There's some more on the laptop."

Bobby gave one of those gruff grunts that could mean practically anything, shifting his cap on his head as he thought for a moment.

"All right. I'll have a look at it, see what we're up against."

Sam nodded, head still bent, staring down at the carpet between the beds as if it was the most interesting thing in the universe. When no verbal answer was forthcoming, Bobby took another step towards the door.

"I'll get my stuff from the car then, see what weapons we got. I need to check, but maybe I have some books in the truck that could help us figure out how to find that witch. I'll be just outside, holler if you need anything."

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby only grunted, and a few seconds later the front door opened and another draft of air from outside reminded Dean that was still cold and his t-shirt was still pushed up, exposing his chest. But even more importantly, he realized that Sam and Bobby focusing on hunting down the witch wasn't going to help him much with his current problem. Not at all. And if they killed the witch before whatever she had done to him was reversed…Dean didn't want to think about it.

Bobby closed the door after he left, and as if that had been the cue he was waiting for, Sam stopped his contemplation of the stained carpet and turned to face his brother again.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Sam reached out and gently pulled Dean's t-shirt down again. It was a slight relief from the cold, but more than anything Dean wished that Sam would stop apologizing. But on a day like this, he hadn't really expected for any of his wishes to come true.

"I'm so sorry."

Sam pulled the hem of the shirt down, smoothing out creases in the fabric and straightening it out. The care that Sam showed was touching, somehow, even though Dean would have protested against the smothering if he had only been able to. But it was a sign that not all was lost between them. Despite everything that had happened, despite all the words that had been said, at the bottom of it all there was still something worth salvaging between them. Something worth fighting for. And that was what Dean was going to do. He was going to fight tooth and claw to save the relationship between Sam and him. It was all he had left. All they had left. That alone made it worth fighting for.

Eventually, Sam seemed content with the state of Dean's clothes and let go of the hem of his shirt. And then suddenly Sam's large and warm palm settled on Dean's chest, right above his heart.

It felt as if the world stopped spinning at that moment, holding its breath in Dean's stead because he couldn't.

Dean wasn't a religious man, despite everything. Despite Hell, despite angels and God's mission for him, Dean didn't consider himself a believer. But in this moment, for once in his life, Dean prayed. He prayed with every fiber of his being that Sam wouldn't move his hand.

_Please, let Sam leave his hand there, for just a minute._

_Please, let him feel my heartbeat._

_Please, just give us another chance to make this right._

_Please._

When had he felt his last heartbeat? Dean had been mapping them since the first time he had felt that his heart was still beating, but right now he couldn't say if the last _thud-thud_ he had felt had been mere seconds ago or not.

"I'm so sorry, Dean."

Sam's lips moved, Dean saw them move and he knew that it was another apology, but the words didn't even register in his ears. Nothing did except for the silence where his heartbeat was supposed to be.

_Please Sam, just leave your hand there for a little longer._

There should have been another heartbeat by now, Dean was sure of it. How much time had passed since Sam had put his hand on his chest? Fifteen seconds? Twenty? How many Mississippis?

_Just a little longer, Sam. I beg you. Please._

Maybe he had missed it. Could that be? Could he have missed his own heartbeat? Surely not. He would have felt it. He had felt every single one of his weak heartbeats over the past hours.

_Please._

There were tears in Sam's eyes again, not yet falling. Fortunately not yet falling. Because if Sam started crying, he was going to withdraw. Dean was sure of that, as sure as he was of the fact that if Sam withdrew his hand now, his last chance was gone. And he wasn't willing to give up yet. That was the one thing he had become aware of over the past hours.

He wasn't yet ready to leave, wasn't yet ready to give up. Not on himself, not on trying to save what little good was left in this world, and – most important of all things – not on Sam. But for that he needed to live. Sam needed to know that he was alive.

_Thud-thud._

It sounded so loud in Dean's own ears, he was sure that even if Sam hadn't felt it, he must have heard it. It had been there, clear as day, resounding loud in Dean's ears and vibrating through his entire body.

A heartbeat.

And Sam froze.

From one moment to the next, in the span of what probably was the most important heartbeat of Dean's entire life, Sam stopped all movement and simply froze.

_Come on, Sammy._

Sam's palm pressed more tightly against Dean's chest now and he bent his head lower, a mixture of worry, disbelief, fear and – _finally_ – a slight sliver of hope in his eyes. Disbelief still outweighed everything else, though.

_I'm alive, Sam. Come on, I'm alive, you only need to notice._

"No."

Sam was shaking his head, and Dean wanted to physically reach out and stop the movement.

_Yes! Damn it, yes!_

Sam had always been the believer amongst them, and right now was the one moment where Dean really needed his brother to believe. In him, most of all.

Another heartbeat. He needed for Sam to feel another heartbeat before his brother put the first one off as a trick of his exhausted and grieving mind. Please.

_Thud-thud._

If Sam had frozen before, now it seemed as if he couldn't move fast enough. One hand started pushing up Dean's shirt again, not caring about how carefully he had smoothed it out just minutes before, and this time Dean didn't even mind the pain that came as Sam moved him slightly. With his free hand, Sam was grabbing frantically for Dean's right arm, pulling it from its limp position at his side.

Dean had no idea what exactly Sam was doing, not until a moment later when his right wrist was suddenly encased in a tight grip between Sam's thumb, ring- and middle finger. The fingers were pressing into the pulse point right at his wrist, and Sam rested his head on Dean's chest, ear right over Dean's heart.

Sam's skin was warm against Dean's, especially now with no layer of shirt in between. But Dean didn't care, despite the fact that he was still icy cold. Right now he'd gladly stay cold for the rest of his life if only Sam finally figured out that he was still alive.

Please figure it out Sam. Please.

For a few endless moments that was all there was – Dean's silent pleas, Sam's hair tickling against his skin, and the warmth of Sam's skin where it touched Dean on his chest and around his wrist. No sound broke the silence. Sam was holding his breath, Dean realized belatedly. Dean would have joined him if only he could have.

_Thud-thud._

A choked sob escaped Sam's lips at the heartbeat, and his grip around Dean's wrist tightened painfully.

"God, Dean."

_Yeah, still right here, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere, if you only figure out a way to get me back to normal._

But Sam didn't move. Not even now that Dean was sure his brother had heard and felt his heartbeat, Sam didn't move his head from Dean's chest, nor did he let go of Dean's wrist. He shifted around slightly and Dean felt his wrist shifted into another position without Sam's fingers ever leaving is pulse point. Dean didn't see clearly what Sam was doing, but the little he saw was enough. Sam was looking at his wristwatch while waiting for the next heartbeat.

Timing his heartbeats.

Sam was timing his heartbeats.

_Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou._

Dean didn't even know who he was sending this silent litany of gratitude to. Sam, most probably. For noticing. For being touchy-feely, no matter how often Dean had ridiculed him for it. For believing. And for not giving up.

_Thud-thud._

Another heartbeat. And Sam was timing it. He was going to figure it out.

And for the first time, Dean was somewhat glad that his body was paralyzed the way it was. The relief he was feeling right now was so overwhelming, he was sure that his eyes would have misted over if his body had been reacting normally. And wouldn't that have been just the embarrassment to top a day filled with nothing but embarrassments.

Another heartbeat.

And another.

"Bobby!"

Sam's voice was rough, and there was an urgency in those two syllables that would have made Dean drop everything and run to his side if Sam had been calling out to him in that tone of voice.

"Bobby!"

The door burst open before Sam had even finished calling out the second time.

"What the…Sam, what are you doing?"

Dean could only imagine what it had to look like what Sam was doing right now. He would have probably doubted his brother's sanity if he had been in Bobby's position. But Sam didn't particularly seem to care.

"Get over here."

Bobby's heavy steps approached the bed, but still Sam didn't move. He didn't let go of Dean's wrist either, as if he was afraid that letting go of the physical reassurance of Dean's heartbeat would mean it was going to vanish.

"Sam, what's going on?"

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Sam raised his head from Dean's chest. He still didn't let go of Dean's wrist, though, and inwardly Dean was glad for the remaining link between them as his brother's warmth vanished from his chest.

"Put your hand there."

With his free hand, Sam grabbed Bobby's hand and pressed it against Dean's chest, even though the older man tried to withdraw. Under normal circumstances, Dean would have protested against being crowded like that, and would have vehemently stopped all this groping that was going on, but right now he welcomed it. Anything if only they finally figured out that he wasn't dead.

"Sam, what is going on?"

"Just feel this, Bobby." Sam was still watching his wristwatch, and Dean realized that he had never once stopped timing the next heartbeat since he had called Bobby in. "Just a few more seconds."

Bobby settled his hand on Dean's chest, albeit reluctantly, and Dean hoped and prayed that he would feel the heart beat too once it came, and that he wasn't going to try and explain it away.

_Thud-thud._

Bobby actually jerked back when the weak heartbeat pulsed under his palm.

"Was that…Sam, was that…?"

"A heartbeat, Bobby. It was a heartbeat."

Sam's voice was a mixture between excitement and shock, that small sliver of hope Dean had seen in his eyes a few moments ago sinking into his voice now as well. Bobby's palm settled on Dean's chest again, and through his nearly closed lids Dean could see the older man shake his head.

"But how? How can he have a heartbeat? You said you couldn't find a pulse when you found him."

"I don't know Bobby. It's slow, maybe that's why I missed it. It's barely beating once a minute, and it's weak. But it's there. You felt it too, right?"

The undertone in Sam's voice was scared. Scared that Bobby was going to find a way to explain this away in a different way than the one his mind had come up with over the past minute or two.

"Yeah, I felt it."

"There should be another heartbeat, in just a few seconds. I tried to time them, they were about sixty-three seconds apart."

Huh. So his fifty-two Mississippi hadn't been that far off. Not precise either, but hey, he had been working under quite some pressure there. Considering the situation, Dean was pretty content with the results he had come up with.

_Thud-thud._

Come on! That had been what? Five heartbeats now? Six? Surely that should have been enough to figure out that he wasn't dead. Dean didn't ask for much more, just that those two finally picked up on the fact that he was still alive.

This time, Bobby didn't jerk away when he felt the heartbeat, but the look in his eyes told clearly that he had no idea what to make of all this.

"I'll be damned." Bobby withdrew his hand again, but before Dean could start bemoaning the loss of warmth, Sam's hand was in its place again, warm and solid and for the first time in long hours reassuring Dean that this things were going to be all right. Sam and Bobby were going to figure it out.

"How can that be, Bobby? How can Dean be alive if his heart is only beating once a minute?"

Bobby sank down on the other bed with a sigh and an audible creaking of the bedsprings. "To be honest? I have no idea, kid. No idea at all. But we're talking about a powerful witch who did this, so it's not impossible."

"But…he's not even breathing. His heart is beating, but I don't feel his chest move at all."

"I don't know. But if his heart is beating only once a minute, he's probably breathing so slowly that you can't notice. I've never seen anything like this before."

"God." Sam bowed his head for a few seconds. He had his back turned to Bobby so that the older man couldn't see the myriad of emotions that crossed Sam's face at that moment. But Dean could see, and he wanted nothing more than to finally be able to speak, just one word that would reassure his brother. It took a few seconds until Sam was able to pull himself together and get his emotions back under control. And suddenly his head snapped up and he turned around to face Bobby, though he never once let go of Dean's wrist or removed his hand from his brother's chest.

"You…you don't think he's conscious, do you?"

_Yes! Right here, Sammy. Now you're finally __getting the idea._

Bobby only sighed. "I don't know, Sam. I really have no idea."

Sam spun around again, and then those huge and warm hands were framing his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks.

"Hey, Dean. Are you in there? Can you hear me?"

_Yes, damn it. Of course I can. And I need you to find a way to fix this. Please, Sam._

And then finally, _finally_, Sam's fingers moved to his eyes, opening up his lids again with slightly more force than would have been comfortable. Dean had never known that eyelids could hurt when they were pinched like that, but they did. They definitely did. And right now, Dean didn't care. Finally his eyes were open again, and even though the room was too bright, so bright that the urge to blink became overwhelming, he could finally see Sam's face clearly again.

Sam's eyes were wide, roaming over Dean's face as if searching for a sign of life. But Dean knew that he was still staring ahead brokenly, not able to show Sam the proof of his awareness that his brother was so desperately searching for.

"Dean, can you hear me?"

Of course he could, but there was nothing he could do to signal that. He couldn't blink, wink, or move even a single muscle. Nothing.

Bobby's face appeared in his line of vision, looming behind Sam and joining the younger hunter in looking down at Dean's unmoving form. Sam must have heard Bobby's approach, because he unerringly turned into the direction of the older hunter.

"I can't tell if he's awake or not."

"Yeah." He put a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "We'll find a way to fix this, Sam."

Sam nodded, his attention already drifting back to Dean. Once more, his eyes widened as another thought struck him.

"What if he's in pain? That wound in his side is deep, it has to hurt."

Dean loved his brother. _Finally_ they were getting somewhere.

The pain was a constant throbbing in his side, dull but never stopping entirely. It flared up with every movement, not that he was doing much of his own right now, but every movement sent new sharp spikes of agony through his entire right side. He really wouldn't say no to a couple of pain pills.

But of course Bobby had to be the voice of reason, and that at a moment when Dean wanted nothing less than listening to reason.

"Even if he's in pain, I don't think there's much we can do about it right now."

Sam's head snapped up gain. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Sam. I doubt you could make Dean swallow any pills right now."

Sam sighed and wearily rubbed a hand over his face. Dean knew what Bobby was talking about, and he knew Sam was clever enough to catch up on the older hunter's meaning as well. "Of course. And with his heart beating as slowly as it does, an injection won't do much good either."

Bobby nodded. "Sorry."

"It's not as if it was your fault, Bobby."

Sam bent a little closer, hands returning to the sides of Dean's face.

"Sorry Dean. But we'll find a way to fix this, okay? I promise you that we'll find a way to fix this and get you back to normal."

Yes, Dean was definitely a little glad that his body's reactions were halted by the paralysis. Those words were the best thing he had heard for the entire day, and he felt himself choking up. Sam was going to fix this. Sam had promised to fix this. Now Dean only needed a little patience.

Sam pressed his palm a little more tightly against Dean's cheek, then he turned towards Bobby again.

"We need to figure out what to do now. We need to get rid of that witch, but we need to make sure that whatever she did to Dean is reversed before we do. I don't know how much time we have."

"You're right. I'll finish getting the stuff from the car, then we can get started."

Bobby turned around and left the room again, and for a moment Sam seemed to sag in on himself. Dean was unable to tell if it was relief or despair, but he knew his brother well enough to have some faith in him. For as long as Sam had something to do, he wasn't going to fall apart. This was exactly the kind of thing Sam loved – research, figuring out a solution to a problem. It was Sam's strength, and Dean had the utmost faith that his brother was going to find a way to fix him.

But for now, Sam still seemed a little caught up in the revelations of the past minutes. One moment he was sagging in on himself, the next he shot up as if something had stung him, eyes going wide as another thought shot through his head.

"God Dean, you have to be freezing."

Finally. Dean was ready and willing to having a mental chick-flick moment right there and then. The room was anything but warm, and Dean had been freezing ever since he had fallen to the wet and uncomfortable forest floor. Of course Sam couldn't have known that he was still alive, but the thin t-shirt his brother had dressed him in earlier was doing nothing to get some warmth back into his frozen limbs.

It seemed as if Sam wanted to make up for the involuntary neglect over the past couple of hours. He immediately pulled the t-shirt back down over Dean's chest, got up from the bed and started to rummage around in the duffel bag on the other bed in the room. He must have grabbed the first piece of clothing he had found, because it was one of Sam's own hoodies he was holding in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Dean. This is probably going to hurt, but I need to get you into some warmer clothes."

Dean understood. Of course he did. And he tried to brace himself against the pain as good as he could, but the moment Sam pulled him up into a sitting position Dean found himself wishing Sam and Bobby had at least tried to give him something against the pain. Sam tried to be gentle, that was obvious, but still it hurt like bitch when his brother lifted him up into a sitting position.

On the one hand there was the pain, but on the other there was blissful warmth as Sam leaned Dean against his own chest so that he could wrap the hoodie around him. If he didn't know better, Dean would suspect that his brother was running a fever. Of course it was because his own body was so cooled out, but Sam was like a furnace, radiating blissful heat that Dean tried to soak up as much as he could while his brother maneuvered his arms into the sleeves of the hoodie.

More pain as Sam lowered him back onto the mattress, but somehow the fact that Sam _tried_ to be as gentle as possible made it at least a little more bearable. Sam zipped the hoodie up, pushed a pillow under Dean's head and covered him up with the blanket from the second bed. Any other day Dean would have drawn the line at his brother tucking him in like that, but the blanket added a little more warmth. It wasn't as good as the earlier skin to skin contact, but it was added warmth. And Dean had to draw the line somewhere, even in his current state. He definitely and always drew it at cuddling. No, as long as the cold was bearable until his own body started producing heat again, this would have to do.

Sam sat back on the edge of the mattress, one hand against Dean's upper arm through the blanket.

"I'll find a way to fix this, Dean. I promise."

_I know you will, Sammy._

It was a one-sided conversation everywhere outside of Dean's head, but the fact that Sam was talking to him already meant a lot. Even if he couldn't answer, it felt at least a little normal to hear Sam talk to him that way.

Bobby came back into the room then, and by the sound of it he was putting a rather heavy stack of books down on the table. Sam gave Dean's arm a last squeeze through the blanket, and then he got up from the bed and joined the older hunter on the other side of the room. With the pillow under his head, Dean could now actually see his brother and Bobby as they sat down at the table a few feet away, and he realized that Sam had taken deliberate care to keep Dean's head raised.

God Sammy. How could it be that lately they were unable to talk without throwing cruelties at one another, yet those small, vital things and that basic consideration for one another was still there? When exactly had they stopped caring about what was going on in the other's head? Dean didn't know for sure. Of course there was Hell. That eternity of time apart that had driven them further away from each other than over three years of Sam being at Stanford had.

But it was going to stop. Dean vowed that as soon as this whole witch business was over and done with, he and Sam were going to have a long talk. Things couldn't continue the way they were now. Not for any longer. Screw Hell, Lilith and the apocalypse. Once this was over, the only thing he was going to care about was Sam.

At the table, Bobby had pulled their earlier research towards himself and was going through what they had figured out about the witch. Sam pulled one of Bobby's books towards himself and started going through the index, though every other moment he raised his head and looked over towards the bed as if reassuring himself that Dean was still there. He lasted for all of five minutes like that. Then, with a sigh, he picked up a couple of the books and carried them over towards the bed.

Bobby didn't say anything, but he smiled with a raised eyebrow as Sam settled right next to Dean, his back against the headboard and the books lying in his lap. In that position, the only part of his brother that Dean could see were his legs stretched out beside his own body. He would have preferred to be able to see Sam, but a moment later a warm weight settled on his head. Sam's fingers slowly moved through his hair, thumb moving in slow circles over his temple. Warmth seeped into his scalp from the touch, relaxing Dean more than just a visual assurance could have.

Okay, so this definitely crossed the line to cuddling. It was the kind of touchy-feely crap Dean would normally clog Sam one for even trying, but it wasn't as if he could do much about it right now. Besides, Sam seemed to need the reassurance. And that was the ultimate argument, after all. Sam needed it. His little brother had always gotten away with murder that way.

His right hand resting on Dean's head, Sam opened the first book with his left and started going through the index. At the table, Bobby was already busy again going through their earlier research about the deaths in the area and the witch. Silence settled over the room again, broken only by the occasional sound of a page turning. Else, there was only the silence of an intense research.

Really, would it kill them to turn on the TV? Dean appreciated that Sam and Bobby were trying to figure out a way to get him back to normal, but this was boring. More than just boring. This here was in the same league as watching a documentary about nuclear physics. It was beyond boring.

Couldn't they at least talk about what they were digging up in their research? From his position Dean had no chance to sneak glances into the book in Sam's lap, so them talking about it was his only way to know what was going on.

But not so much.

Occasionally, Sam would put down the book and press his fingers against Dean's jugular, assuring himself that Dean's heartbeat was still there. As soon as he felt it, Sam wordlessly removed his fingers and went back to his perusal of the books Bobby had brought. Eventually, after he had skimmed the index of the last book he had carried over towards the bed, Sam broke the silence.

"You were right, Bobby. This doesn't make any sense at all."

Bobby harrumphed. "Tell me about it. Getting rid of this witch is one thing. We locate the spring, destroy her source of power, then it should be easy to kill her. But we can't do any of that until we know that whatever she did to Dean is reversed."

"I still don't understand why she didn't kill Dean like she killed all the others."

Dean had a pretty good idea concerning that one. The witch had known he was a hunter, after all. Hikers who crossed into her territory were a nuisance, but people who actually came there with the intent to kill her? Dean guessed she had taken that a bit more personally than she did the careless hikers.

"That's part of what we have to figure out, Sam. Anything in those books?"

Sam laughed mirthlessly. "No. Nothing at all. Maybe we have to find her and force her to reverse what she did."

"I'd rather not have to go there."

Dean could agree with that statement. He wouldn't want to trust a witch to get him back to normal, either. Not if there was another way.

Sam closed the last book with a snap and tossed it to the foot of the bed.

"This isn't getting us anywhere." He sighed in frustration. "We're only wasting time. And we've wasted enough time already. I've wasted hours sitting around feeling sorry for myself while I could have tried to figure out a way to reverse this."

Self-accusations weren't going to help them now. What had happened wasn't Sam's fault. Period. Nothing to go guilt tripping about. Besides, Sam had figured out that he was still alive, that was all Dean could have asked for.

"Sam, you couldn't have known."

Dean thanked Bobby for voicing that particular thought. But he also knew his brother well enough to know that a few well-meant words normally weren't enough to calm Sam down when he was in that particular mood.

"I _should_ have, Bobby. I was looking for a heartbeat when I first found him, and I didn't find it even though it was there. I should have noticed something, I should have seen that there wasn't enough blood, anything. I simply should have seen it."

Bobby put the papers he was holding down and turned so that he was facing Sam fully.

"No Sam. You couldn't have known. It was lucky coincidence that you did notice Dean's heartbeat earlier. But what was done to him, that was the work of a powerful witch. It would have taken a witch to recognize that he was still alive."

Sam froze, and the fingers in Dean's hair stopped moving.

"What did you say?"

Bobby seemed stunned, but after a moment he shrugged.

"Just that it was impossible for anyone to tell that Dean is still alive. Real powerful witchcraft, it takes a witch to recognize it for what it is."

Sam's hand tightened in Dean's hair. Not to the degree that it was painful, but enough to show that his brother was getting tense. And Dean understood that Sam had finally figured it out. He understood it even before Sam's next words came out in a low, threatening growl.

"That bitch."

* * *

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**TBC...**

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Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry that it took a little while, but this chapter at one point didn't quite cooperate. But it's extremely long, I hope that makes up for it.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Dean loved his brother. He really did.

But honestly? The kid was ten kinds of crazy, and his planning skills seriously sucked.

It was unbelievable. This was _Sam_. The same Sam who had gotten a full ride at one of the best universities of the whole country even though he had never stayed in one school for longer than a couple of months. But considering this crappy excuse for a plan Sam had come up with, Dean seriously doubted that his brother really had that near-genius IQ his teachers had always talked about.

If Dean had been able to move, or in any way able to communicate, he'd be yelling on top of his lungs right now, and he'd physically restrain Sam if he had to. There was just no way he was going to let Sam go through with this.

And the worst thing? The worst thing was that the one person who actually _was_ able to tell Sam just how suicidal and plain stupid his plan was didn't do a damn thing about it. No, Bobby had listened silently as Sam had laid out the idiocy that he called a plan, and instead of protesting loudly the older hunter had actually _agreed_ to it.

This was it.

Once he was back to normal, Dean was going to have a long talk with his brother. And then he was going to have Bobby examined for senility, just for good measure. Once that was done, he was going to lock both of them up, and would never allow them to come up with a plan on their own again. It was for their own safety. Because it just couldn't be that he was out of commission for just a few hours, and Sam and Bobby developed suicidal tendencies.

It just couldn't be.

Steps approaching the bed interrupted Dean from his musings. Sam had left his perch beside Dean with his hand on top of Dean's head a little while ago, when he and Bobby had started working out their so-called plan. But Sam had made sure to always stay in Dean's line of vision, and he also returned to the bed in regular intervals, checking Dean's pulse or simply putting a hand on his shoulder as if to let him know that he hadn't forgotten about him.

Now as well, the first thing Sam did was sit down on the edge of the mattress, one hand going unerringly to Dean's shoulder. Unable to move, Dean had come to appreciate his brother's repeated attempts to initiate contact over the past hours. It was grounding him in a way he desperately needed in this absurd situation. But right now there was no comfort in the touch. Dean was far to angry at Sam. In fact, he was downright pissed at the stupid risks his brother was taking. He tried to glare at Sam, but even that small shift in his expression was denied to him.

"Ruby should be here soon. I know it's probably uncomfortable for you, but I need to close your eyes for a while, okay?"

No, it was anything but okay. If Sam already thought it was a good idea to actually call Ruby and ask her to come back to the motel room, the least he could do was leave his eyes open. Dean didn't want for Sam to be meeting with Ruby in the first place. And not being able to see what was going on during that meeting was sheer torture.

Dean couldn't stop his brother as Sam reached out and gently closed his lids again. He let his palm linger for a few moments, then withdrew it with a gentle pat against his cheek.

"We'll fix this, Dean. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to fix this."

Absolutely not reassuring.

Dean wouldn't put it past Ruby to show her real face full force once her true game was revealed. If they still had Ruby's knife Dean would feel a little more reassured, but Alistair had taken that away. So Sam going all gung-ho about finding a way to get Dean back to normal no matter the costs was anything but reassuring.

Sam gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze, then the mattress shifted as he got up from the bed and walked over towards the table. Dean didn't want to admit how much it bothered him that he wasn't able to see Sam anymore. Ever since Sam had discovered his heartbeat, seeing his brother and being able to watch him as he tried to figure out a way to get him back to normal had been reassuring. It had been a source of hope. And now Sam had taken that visual reassurance away, just as he was about to walk into a situation he quite possibly couldn't control.

Oh yeah, they were going to have a long, serious talk about this.

From the sounds of it, Sam was pacing up and down in the small space between the table and the beds. Up and down. Up and down. He was nervous about this, and after hearing the plan his brother had cooked up, Dean could sympathize with that feeling. It wasn't as if this plan was in any way foolproof.

But then there was a knock on the door, signaling that the time for deliberation was over anyway. Sam had started this, and now there was no way to stop it anymore. Dean heard Sam draw a deep breath, then his brother went over to open the door.

"Hello Sam."

Just hearing Ruby's voice felt like fingernails scratching over a chalkboard. Dean felt the overwhelming urge to punch her. No matter that he couldn't move, and that punching the body she currently inhabited wouldn't hurt her much, he wanted to punch her long and hard, again and again. He was sure it was going to make him feel better, at least.

"Hey Ruby. Come in."

The sound of boots on the floor, walking over towards the table, and Sam closed the door again before he joined the demon. A few seconds of silence stretched, and Dean could picture his brother standing there, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his pockets, the picture of a lost and miserable puppy. If anything, Sam was one hell of an actor when he had to be.

"Where's old man Singer?"

"He left a few minutes after I called you. I…I told him that I needed a little time alone. He wanted to get dinner, but he won't be back for the next hour, hour and a half."

Someone, judged by the position of the sound probably Ruby, pulled out a chair. And true, when she next spoke, the position of her voice had changed. She must have sat down at the table, but Dean knew that Sam wasn't going to follow her example. This wasn't going to be a discussion that was going to be led on an equal footing in any way.

"So, when you called you said you needed to talk?"

"Yeah." It came out as a long sigh, and for a moment Dean wondered how much of it was his brother acting, and how much of it was real. He would have been able to tell if he could only see Sam, but judged only by his voice there was no way for Dean to be sure.

"I take it you've been thinking about what I told you when I was here earlier."

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it for quite a while, in fact. You're still leaving tomorrow?"

"Yes." The chair creaked as Ruby shifted slightly. "I'm going to leave for Wichita first thing tomorrow morning."  
Sam was silent for a long moment. Too long, Dean thought. Ruby would notice that something was up if Sam started behaving oddly now. But maybe she put it off as a sign of Sam's raw grief, because Ruby didn't comment on Sam's odd pauses in the conversation.

"So, what was your plan? You wanted me to come with you check out some omens?"

"If you think you're ready for it, yes. If we're lucky, we finally find a trace of Lilith. If not, we still might find a demon to exorcise. You need the practice, Sam. Lilith has to be somewhere, and she's bound to leave traces. And once we find her, you need to be ready for it. We'll be quicker to find her if we work together on this, Sam."

"Probably." Another slight pause, a clear hesitation this time. "So, if you want to check out these omens in Wichita, why did you decide to stick around for the night?"

Ruby paused for a moment before she answered. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Humor me, Ruby."

A sigh. "I stayed because of _you_, Sam."

"Really now."

Ruby drew a deep breath. "I would have called you about those omens in Wichita, anyway. What happened to Dean…it complicated matters."

Oh yeah, Dean wanted to punch Ruby. He wanted to punch her badly.

"It _complicated matters_?"

The indignation made Sam's voice sound about an octave higher and yet at the same time much more like an angry growl than Dean was used to hearing it, but Ruby didn't seem fazed in the least.

"Sam, let's be honest here. I never was a member of your brother's fan club, and that's no secret. I could pretend to be torn up about his death, but I'd be lying. But that doesn't mean I can't sympathize with what you're feeling. I know how much what happened to Dean hurt you. I was there the last time, remember? And while time is slowly running out, I thought I'd stick around for another night, just in case you changed your mind about going after Lilith."

Sam's breathing was getting harsher now, and Dean instinctively knew how much it cost his brother at this moment to keep up the cool façade and not let his anger win over just yet. Maybe it was the fact that he had known Sam for decades, and at one point thought that he knew every single of his brother's nuances, but Dean clearly heard the venom creep into Sam's voice even if Ruby seemed oblivious to it.

"So your plan was to wait out the night and see if I changed my mind about going after Lilith with you? You say you knew I was going to call you before you left and ask to join you? Are you actually saying that you made a _plan_ about how I was possibly going to react after what happened to Dean?"

"No. But I _know_ you, Sam. I know that losing him hurt you. But I also know that you don't want to end up like the last time again, either. You want to have a purpose. You _need_ a purpose to keep going. And there is no better purpose than to find Lilith and stop her before she brings on the apocalypse. So yeah, I was hoping that you'd change your mind about Wichita. And if you hadn't decided to come along, I'd have waited for a few days, and then I would have called you again."

"So you're saying you had a plan for it all?"

Steps again, and Dean could picture his brother stepping closer to where Ruby was seated. And he would bet the Impala that Sam was no longer standing hunched over, but that he was straightening out every inch of his 6'4'' frame right now. He didn't do it consciously, but it was just like Sam to straighten up to his full height and using it to his advantage when he was getting angry.

"Why are you asking me this, Sam?"

"Did you have a plan, Ruby?" Every syllable was an unspoken threat. It wasn't the disdainful voice Sam had used back when the siren had made them say all these things to each other, but it was a tone of voice Dean didn't want Sam to ever direct at him.

Again, Ruby sighed dramatically.

"Yes Sam, I had a plan. Of course I had a plan on what to do next. I always have. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I thought I'd hear, yes."

Ruby was silent for a second or two, then her chair scratched over the floor as she shifted it back.

"What are you driving at, Sam?"

Sam drew a deep, measured breath. When he spoke, his voice was icy.

"What I'm driving at is that you had a plan about how to proceed. You had a plan on what to do about Lilith, and about how to drag me into your chase for her again."

"You make it sound like a bad thing. Yes, I had a plan. It wasn't as if I had tried to drag you into something against your will. I merely tried to be prepared for what you might decide. I was ready to wait for your decision on that. So what is your problem about this?"

"My problem is that there's one thing I'm missing in that plan of yours."

"And what would that be?"

"At what point were you planning to tell me that you know Dean is still alive?"

Silence.

That was all the answer to Sam's question.

The stunned silence of someone who was caught in a lie they didn't expect to blow up anytime soon and didn't know what to respond to that.

It was the kind of silence that was answer enough.

While Ruby was still searching for an answer, Sam's steps sounded again. What Sam was about to do now was actually the only part of Sam's crappy plan that Dean found himself agreeing with – laying a salt line in front of the door before Ruby could think about just up and making a run for it. All the windows and other possible exits to the room were salted already, and there was a devil's trap on the ceiling over the small bathroom window which had no windowsill that would allow them to lay a salt line. Ruby wasn't going to get out of here before Sam had his answers, at least that's what Sam hoped the outcome of this would be.

Ruby's chair scratched over the floor as she realized what Sam was doing and hurriedly got up from her chair. But the sound of Sam pouring the salt stopped well before her hurried steps reached him.

"What are you doing, Sam?"

"I'm making sure that you can't leave before I've gotten some answers out of you. You can as well sit back down because there's no way you're getting out of here."

"Sam, I…"

"Sit down!"

There was no sound of the chair being moved, but by the sudden silence in the room Dean judged that Ruby had been startled enough by the sudden outburst to follow Sam's command. Sam's steps were approaching Dean's bed, and he felt the warmth radiating from his brother's hand a split-second before Sam's fingers made contact and opened his eyes again, more gently than the last time.

The room was not as bright anymore as earlier. It was late afternoon, and Sam had killed the overhead lights, but still the light assaulted his eyes as his ability to see returned. Sam's hands shifted his head around, and he felt a pillow pushed under his head. As the uncomfortable sensation of being unable to blink against the light decreased, Dean found that he could see most of the room again. His vision stretched from the bathroom door to the left to the foot end of the other bed to his right. Most importantly, he could see the room's small table and the two chairs around it straight ahead.

And Ruby.

Dean had been wrong in his earlier assessment. Ruby hadn't sat down, or maybe she had gotten up again. Whatever it was, she was standing in front of the table, nearly at the foot end of the bed and pretty much right in Dean's line of vision. She was watching him with what at first glance appeared to be an impassive expression. But her posture gave her away. She had her arms crossed over her chest defensively, whole body tense as if ready to bolt at any second. The only problem was that she had nowhere to bolt to. Sam had the room secured, that Dean was sure of. Ruby couldn't go anywhere unless she decided to make the big escape and leave her body behind, and part of Sam's plan was that she wasn't quite ready to do that yet.

Another reason why Dean thought his brother's plan sucked out loud.

Sam gave his shoulder a firm but gentle squeeze, then walked towards Ruby again, always staying clear in Dean's line of vision.

"Anything you want to tell me?"

Ruby raised her eyebrows. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't start his crap with me!"

Sam's voice was tight with coiled anger, and the line of his shoulders was tense. Ruby only shrugged.

"I hate to tell you, but he doesn't look particularly alive to me."

"He has a pulse. His heart is still beating, which to me seems like a damn good sure sign that he isn't dead."

Ruby took a curious step forward, as if she was about to step over and assure herself of the presence of Dean's heartbeat. She made one step towards the bed, then suddenly Sam was there, blocking her path.

"Don't even think about going near him."

Ruby rolled her eyes, and Dean's desire to punch her increased tenfold. They all knew that she was caught in her lie, why she was still keeping up the act was beyond Dean.

Ruby uncrossed her arms and took on a deliberately relaxed stance, and a second later she plastered a big smile on her face.

"But that's good news, isn't it? If Dean is still alive then…"

"Don't!"

Sam made an angry step towards the demon, who took a step back in an attempt to keep the distance between them.

"Don't," he repeated. "Don't feed me this crap. The witch did this to him. She made him appear dead when he isn't. And you're the one who keeps reminding us about the fact that you were a witch once. Do you really want to tell me that you had no idea that Dean was still alive? That one witch doesn't recognize another witch's work?"

"Listen Sam, I have no idea why you think that I knew about this, but I tell you I didn't…"

"Shut up!"

As much as Dean was glad for the fact that Sam didn't give Ruby a chance to spin another web of lies around him, it worried him how much louder and more aggressive his brother's voice got. It wouldn't help anybody if Sam lost his temper with Ruby. Not without someone there to back him up, and thanks to the _Big Crappy Plan_, Bobby wasn't supposed to be back for another half hour. He was close, hadn't gone to the diner as Sam had said, but he definitely wasn't close enough to know when he was needed if Sam didn't call him.

"If you know what's good for you, you stop that crap right now and tell me what you know about this."

Ruby glowered at Sam, then threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

"I tell you Sam, I have no idea what _this_ even is. First you call me because Dean is dead, then suddenly he isn't and it's somehow supposed to be my fault?"

"What do you know?"

"Nothing! What, has this whole thing screwed with that huge brain of yours? You called me after that witch already got to him. I don't know anything about this!"

"I didn't say you did this. But you lied to me. You knew that Dean was alive, and you didn't tell me."

Something flickered in Ruby's eyes then, gone too quick for Dean to determine what exactly it had been. But he didn't like it one bit. Ruby took one step closer towards Sam, deliberately calm and unthreatening.

"I didn't know, Sam. I tell you, I didn't know. I had no idea that Dean was still alive until you told me. And you're not going to load this on me. You were the one who was there when it happened, Sam. You were the one who told me that Dean was dead. If he still has a pulse, then you are the one who didn't find it. That should tell you something, Sam. Maybe you should think about that."

"I said shut up!"

Sam was yelling now, and Dean would have flinched if he only could. It was starting again. Ruby was fucking with Sam's mind, and judged by the rise in Sam's volume it was working.

"It's always like that when you don't want to face the truth Sam, isn't it? But think about a few things. Like, why did you call _me_ pretty much right after you thought your brother died? And why did you stage this little get together now?"

"To get answers out of you. To make you tell me how to get Dean back."

Ruby only shook her head and took another step towards Sam. Dean didn't like how cocky the demon was getting, and that the conversation had been taking such a twist over the past couple of seconds. Ruby was backing Sam into a corner, and right now Sam seemed unable to stop her.

"Be honest, Sam. Is that really what you want?"

Something icy formed in Dean's stomach. Normally he would have laughed in the face of everyone who even dared to make such a suggestion, but right now he wasn't sure. Nothing was sure anymore after everything that had happened between them lately.

"What? Of course. What else should I want?"  
Ruby laughed.

"Come on Sam. I thought we were long past the point where you have to keep up the pretences around me. I know you, Sam. I know you well enough to be sure that when you discovered Dean's heartbeat, it complicated things."

Dean absolutely didn't like where this was going, but what he liked even less was the stunned look that crossed Sam's face for a moment before he caught himself and built himself up to his full height in indignation.

"Stop this crap right now."

"No Sam. I think you need to hear this. Or are you seriously trying to tell me that after that first moment of grief, things didn't seem a lot easier when you thought Dean was dead?"

"Shut up, Ruby."

But Ruby was on a roll and didn't think about stopping. Instead, she took a step towards Sam, and this time Dean had to watch how his brother was the one to take a step back to keep his distance.

"I know you, Sam. Don't tell me that Dean being alive, that figuring out a way to undo what the witch did, makes things more complicated than they should be."

"Stop it!"

Another step forward, another step back for Sam.

"Why don't you finally admit that yes, there was grief. And yes, there was pain. But things would be a lot easier if he wasn't around to tell you what to do anymore."

"Shut up, Ruby."

"Why Sam? Afraid of hearing the truth? Afraid that you'll have to agree, that you'll have to admit to yourself that when the thought that Dean was dead had settled a little, you actually felt _relieved_?"

"I said shut up!"

Sam's roar echoed through the room, and before Dean could even comprehend what was happening suddenly Ruby was thrown back. She was thrown at least seven feet through the air until her head collided with the wall with an ugly dull smack.

Dean's first thought was that Sam had finally lost it and punched her, and he was inwardly applauding his brother for that loss of control. But he already knew that something was wrong about that. Sam had been standing too far away from Ruby to punch her like that. And not even his giant of a brother would have been able to throw that kind of punch. Not one that would have thrown Ruby across the entire room.

Sam hadn't thrown a punch. And a punch might have done the physically improbable and tossed Ruby across the room. But no punch would have tossed the demon into a wall and held her there.

Something caught in Dean's throat as he looked from his brother – so tense that the chords in his neck were standing out, one arm outstretched and pointing at Ruby, the other hand curling and uncurling tensely at his side – to Ruby, hanging suspended against the wall, her feet dangling a couple of inches above the ground. With one hand Ruby was clawing at her throat, her face a deep red already, and her breathing coming in choked gasps.

Dean didn't know what to think.

He didn't even know what to feel. This…he had no idea that Sam was capable of this. That anybody but a demon should be capable of holding someone against a wall by the power of their mind alone. The thought that Sam…

Dean didn't know which urge was stronger, the urge to punch something, or the urge to throw up everything he had ever eaten in his entire life. Please, not Sam. That mind exorcism trick was bad enough, but this…this was beyond bad. It scared Dean, more than he wanted to admit.

Ruby was still uttering those choking sounds, and they only stopped when Sam moved his fingers. It was extremely disturbing to see his brother do these things, but the look on Sam's face was even more disturbing. Sam looked even more surprised and shocked than Dean felt, and somehow that made it all just so much worse.

Ruby drew deep, gulping breaths when Sam's invisible hold on her loosened. The look in her eyes when she turned them towards Sam seemed almost fearful to Dean.

"Sam…" she croaked out.

"I said shut up." Sam's voice was low and lethal now, and he took a few deliberate steps towards her without lowering his hand. "You will shut your filthy mouth or I swear I will send whatever's left of your soul down to the deepest, darkest pit of hell. You know I can do it, and we both know you don't want to go back there. So shut up!"

And much to Dean's surprise, Ruby shut up.

"Good." Sam drew a deep breath. "Now, you will tell me everything you know about what is going on with Dean, and how to reverse it."

"I told you Sam, I have no idea…"

"Wrong answer," Sam interrupted her, moving his hand so that the palm was stretched out towards Ruby. Even though Dean knew what was coming, he couldn't help the painful tug somewhere deep inside his chest as he saw Sam's eyes narrow in concentration.

"Sam!" Ruby tried again, but her voice died as she tried to draw breath, looking for all the world like a fish out of water. Her mouth formed a silent 'no', but her efforts to stop Sam were in vain. Slowly, a thin tendril of black smoke was pulled out of her mouth. Sam held out for a few more seconds, then he shifted his hand and the smoke shot back into Ruby's mouth as if she had just taken a deep drag from a cigarette. With her eyes closed, the demon drew a few deep, gulping breaths.

"Sam…"

"I told you to shut up. Now, are you going to answer me, or do I have to finish this?"

Ruby weakly shook her head, the movement barely perceptible.

"You…wouldn't."

"Oh, trust me that I would. I've had it up to here with you. Either you can help me bring Dean back, or you can't. And if you can't, I don't see any reason to stop me from sending you to hell."

He didn't give Ruby the chance to say anything to that. Instead, he raised his hand again. This time, Ruby seemed to be able to put up even less resistance against what Sam was doing. Her lips opened and closed helplessly for a second or two, then the dark cloud of smoke escaped her mouth again. It was bigger this time, not the wispy tendril of Sam's first attempt. In fact, there was so much smoke coming out of Ruby's mouth that Dean got worried his brother was getting carried away.

Not that Dean would mind his brother exorcising Ruby and sending her back down to hell where she belonged. It was actually up quite high on his own to-do list. But if Sam exorcised Ruby now, they were right back where they had started as far as getting Dean back to normal was concerned. That was the one thing Ruby might help them with. But for that they needed to hold it with the exorcism for just a little longer.

The dark cloud kept on growing, almost obscuring Dean's view of Ruby's body completely. Inwardly, Dean was screaming at Sam to stop it, but no sound escaped his lips as he watched Sam pull more and more of the demon out of Ruby. Endless seconds passed until Sam let his hand sink down. For a moment Dean was afraid that Sam had stopped too late. But then the smoke slowly filtered back into Ruby's mouth, and she took a deep gasping breath as it was over.

"Last chance," Sam said in a voice that was much too detached for Dean's liking. "You can either tell me what you know about how to get Dean back to normal, or I'm going to send you back to hell right now. No more pulling back. It's your last chance, Ruby. Think about it."

Ruby looked at Sam for a long moment, as if trying to gauge whether he was serious. And Dean knew that if she didn't give in now, Sam was going to have to exorcise her. And then they were back to square one.

After a moment, Ruby shook her head. Dean clearly saw the flicker of disappointment on Sam's face, but just as he thought that Sam was going to back down now of all times Sam squared his shoulders and raised his hand again. Ruby's eyes grew wide, and she clenched her jaws as Sam drew a deep breath and focused.

"No!" She forced out in a weak whisper. "Stop."

Sam lowered his hand slightly. "What?"

"I'll do it. Just stop."

Sam cocked his head to the side. "You'll do what?"

Ruby closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall in defeat. "I'll help you find the witch and undo what she did to Dean. Satisfied?"

Sam shook his head, a smile on his face.

"No."

Ruby's eyes snapped open again. "What else do you want?"

"I want you to talk. So, how did you know that Dean was still alive?"

Even from the distance, Dean saw Ruby's throat move as she swallowed heavily.

"You said it yourself. I'm a witch. It's in the job description to recognize spell work. The signs are there if you just know where to look. Not you, maybe. But me."

"Did the witch poison him?"

"No." Ruby smiled. "No, Sam. This is no poison. This is a spell, and a very powerful spell. Now, if you have played enough Q&A for today I'd suggest you let me down and we get to working on this, because we don't have much time to undo this."

"Just one more question. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you tell me that Dean was still alive?"

Ruby sighed, as if the answer should be obvious.

"Because you are _important_, Sam. Believe it or not, we are still fighting for the same thing. And you are the only one who can stop Lilith. Going after that witch's spring was a mistake already. But going after her to undo the spell she put on Dean? The risk that you kill yourself in the attempt to get your precious brother back was too high. So yes, I didn't tell you that Dean was still alive because that spell is going to kill him soon anyway. That kind of spell, it if isn't reversed quickly, it will kill him. But since you caught me in the lie and insist that I help you with your insane plan, I suggest you finally let me down."

Sam hesitated for a few seconds, but finally he let his hand sink down. Ruby slid down the wall, but a clearly visible dent remained where her head had impacted with the plaster. She scrambled back to her feet, making a big show out of rubbing the back of her head and working out invisible cricks in her arms and legs.

Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked down at her.

"So, what do we need to do?"

Ruby shook her head. "Not so quick. I said I'd help you. Under one condition."

Sam laughed. "I don't think you get the concept here. Right now, you're in no position to be negotiating conditions."

Ruby smiled. "Oh, but I think I am. The worst thing you can do to me is send me down to hell. I don't want that. I don't have time for that. But even if you exorcise me now, it won't kill me. Sooner or later I'm going to claw my way back out. So let's stop wasting time and start thinking about how we can undo the spell and kill that witch. If you accept my condition."

"What's that?"

"I help you get your brother back to normal. Or well, whatever is normal for _him_. In turn, once that is said and done, you will let me go."

On the inside, Dean was yelling, even though he already knew what his brother's answer was going to be. It was the same vicious cycle over and over again. For whatever f-ed up reason, they always came back to making deals with the things they were supposed to hunt.

And when exactly had the situation turned so that Ruby was now the one to be making demands?

"Define _let you go_." Sam said, jaw clenched tightly.

"It means just what it sounds like. Once that witch is gone, you will let me go. You won't exorcise me, you will not follow me, and you will not hunt me down, no matter what your brother has to say about it. That's what it means."

Sam thought about it for a few seconds, one hand buried in his hair. Eventually, he nodded with a sigh.

"Okay. But if I find out that you're lying, or trying to play me in any way, the deal is off. If you even so much as _think_ about double-crossing me, whatever's left of your soul is going back to hell. And the next time, I won't waste an time with discussions."

Ruby slowly nodded. "Fair enough. We have a deal. Now, how about you call Singer back from wherever he's gone to. We're burning daylight."

And from that moment on, it felt as if Dean no longer existed. Not that anybody had consulted him about the _Big Crappy Plan _earlier, and he had to admit that he wasn't exactly a great conversationalist right now. But that didn't mean he didn't have any input on things. Like how frigging stupid was his little brother for planning to go into the woods, alone, with only Ruby for backup? And as if to make a stupid idea even more insane, Sam was planning on going there with maybe an hour, an hour and a half of daylight before it got dark.

Ruby was all for the plan, of course. The scheming bitch.

Bobby arrived back at the room less than ten minutes after Sam's call. When Sam and Ruby told Bobby what they were planning to do, he gave a grunt that by some sort of general consensus was taken as agreement.

Seriously, he was out of commission for less than a day and everyone threw reason out of the window? Sam went hunting a completely crazy woods-witch with a demon, and Bobby, who had years of experience in hunting all kinds of evil bitches and bastards agreed to stay behind and baby-sit Dean?

Yes, there were definitely a couple of long conversations bound to happen once he was back to normal. Maybe some none-too-gentle head-slapping while he was already at it. Nothing else seemed to work.

Because if asking Ruby to come here had been the _Big Crappy Plan_, what Sam was going to do now certainly qualified for _Crappiest Plan Ever_. And the very worst thing was that Dean was unable to stop any of it happening.

He couldn't stop Ruby from telling Bobby to get some ingredients together for her, he couldn't stop her from giving Sam a list of weapons to compile, and he couldn't stop how both his brother and Bobby did everything the demon asked, without questioning her. So not even half an hour after Sam had struck that unholy alliance with Ruby, Dean found himself alone in the motel room with his brother. Ruby was outside, probably making sure that everything had been done to her satisfaction, and Bobby had gone with her to keep an eye on her. Or to give Sam a few moments alone with Dean. It was hard to tell with him at times.

Sam just stood there for a few moments, hand buried in his hair, as if he didn't quite know what to do next. With a deep sigh, he let his arm sink after a few seconds, walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Hey." Sam's voice sounded unsure, and he wiped a hand over his face. "I'm guessing you're still in there. Otherwise, this is going to look pretty weird." He laughed mirthlessly. "Definitely feels weird. But…well, anyway. Ruby and me are going to leave pretty soon. I guess you heard that. And if you heard, you're probably cursing me for doing this. I…I promise you will get your chance to tear me a new one for it once you're back to normal. But, it's the only chance we have, and I'm going to take it." He paused. "And if it doesn't work out…well. It will work. It has to. But if…what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry. For a lot of things. I just wanted you to know."

He squeezed Dean's shoulder once, tightly, then he got up from the bed. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't worry, okay?"

Dean would have laughed, if he had been physically able to. Not worrying about Sam was a thing he was incapable of on so many levels, and Sam knew that. Sometimes these days it felt like the only thing he ever did. Sam picked up his bag, put it over his shoulder and with a last glance at the bed Dean was lying on, turned towards the door.

The moment Sam vanished from Dean's line of vision, a small knot of anticipation formed in his stomach. He heard voices outside, Sam's voice and then Bobby's deep and gruff tones. Dean listened as the Impala's engine roared up in front of the door, inwardly bristling at the thought of that demon bitch in his car. He only hoped Sam made her sit in the backseat again.

The engine sound grew more distant as Sam pulled the car out of the parking lot, then it was gone entirely.

Sam was gone.

And all Dean could do was wait.

The door to the motel room opened again and Bobby's heavy tread approached the bed. He looked down at Dean, shifting his ball cap back on his head with one hand.

"Sam can take care of himself," he finally grunted, as if he knew exactly what was going on in Dean's head.

"So, I'll just turn on the TV while we wait. I'm not going to blabber just to fill the silence until Sam comes back."

That was Bobby for you. Dean wasn't going to complain, although he seriously doubted that some crappy motel TV channels were going to be able to distract him from worrying about Sam.

Bobby moved towards the TV set that was located on a small side table, pulled it a little more towards the foot end of Dean's bed, and switched it on. With the remote in his hand, he sank down on the second bed in the room amidst a creak of bedsprings.

"Let's see what we got here."

He flipped through some channels until he settled on the bright colors of a cartoon. A_ Simpsons_ rerun. The _24_ rip-off episode in which Kiefer Sutherland guest-starred. Dean had probably seen it ten times already, but he couldn't be picky. Bobby could have picked a lot worse. For a horrible second, Dean wondered if their motel room had pay-per-view TV channels, and found himself fervently praying that it hadn't. Because that would just be _awkward_.

But Bobby left the Simpsons on, and Dean found himself listlessly following the plot. 24 minutes. Well, at least the real-time episode gave him a feeling of how much time passed. 24 minutes was barely enough for Sam and Ruby to get to the woods somewhere. And then they had to find the witch, and do whatever they had to do to undo the spell she had put on him. It was going to take a lot more than just an episode or two of _The Simpsons_ until Sam got back.

Bobby channel-flipped madly during the commercial breaks, but diligently returned to the episode every time, just as if Dean was really following the plot. Which wasn't even close to the truth. Bart and Lisa could have nuked Springfield for all that he cared right now.

Once the episode was over, Bobby started flipping through the channels again. They tuned in on a few boring sitcoms for a few moments, watched the evening news and the weather report for a little while, and for a few scarily long minutes Bobby stopped and watched a woman on a home shopping channel talk about the advantages of the new vacuum cleaner that worked without a cleaner bag. It was…disturbing, to say the least. People making shows about selling vacuum cleaners was one thing, and bad enough at that, but Bobby actually _watching_ that crap was pretty high on the list of things that scared the crap out of Dean.

A list which was currently topped by the thought of Sam alone in the woods somewhere with a homicidal witch and a lying bitch of a demon.

Bobby switched channels again without calling the hotline and ordering the special offer for only $149.99, which calmed Dean somewhat. After a few more minutes of channel surfing, he eventually located some sort of sci-fi channel which was advertising horror movie night.

_Godzilla_.

Not the original, or _Godzilla vs. Mothra_.

Of course not.

No, it was the remake.

The crappy remake Sam had made him watch about a hundred times already. There was no movie Dean was less inclined to watch right now, but Bobby put the remote down on the bedside table with a sigh and settled more comfortably on the bed.

_Godzilla_ it was, then. Just frigging great.

If their roles were reversed, Sam would probably be thrilled about Bobby's pick in movies. But that was the problem. Their roles _weren't_ reversed. It was Sam who was out there in the woods somewhere, without a plan and without backup, trying to save Dean's life. Not the other way around, even though that was the way it was supposed to be. Sam wasn't supposed to risk his life for him like that. Not because Dean had been sloppy on a hunt. Dean was supposed to watch out for Sam, not the other way around.

The movie dragged on endlessly. Dean knew that it was a three-hour epic, lethally boring for the most part until maybe the last half hour. Not even Jean Reno could save that thing. And those three hours dragged on like treacle, minutes barely moving by. Dean watched because he had no other choice, but his mind wasn't on it. Why should he care if that fugly creature turned New York to rubble? Sam was out there alone, and that was all that counted.

And then the movie was over, Godzilla was dead, which always made Sam sad for some f-ed up reason, because he claimed Godzilla wasn't evil but only trying to protect its offspring. Godzilla was dead, the three hour movie was over, and Sam still wasn't back.

That small knot of anticipation that had formed in Dean's stomach when Sam had left had grown to the size of a basketball by now. It felt as if his whole body was buzzing with nervousness that he couldn't let out in any form of movement, and it was slowly driving him mad. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch, pins and needles all over his body.

Sam still wasn't back.

By now it was entirely dark outside, and Dean heard more than he saw Bobby shift around on the bed and get up. He turned on the light between the beds and vanished into the bathroom for a few minutes. That taken care of, he grabbed a soda from the small fridge and settled back on the other bed.

"I'm sure Sam's okay."

Dean could only hope that Bobby was right, and not just tossing out platitudes. Because if Sam wasn't all right, Dean didn't know what he was going to do. Kill Ruby, slowly and painfully. But after that, he had no idea. Put a gun to his head, maybe. Or not pay any real attention to whether or not he got the next evil thing he was hunting before it got him. If Sam wasn't all right, the whole world, the apocalypse and everything else could go screw themselves.

Bobby started channel switching again, but Dean had stopped paying attention to the images on the screen a while ago. More cartoons, more news, more movies, more crap. Something about cars came up next, and normally that would have improved Dean's mood a lot. Normally. Right now the sound of engines coming from the small TV was annoying. But Bobby seemed interested, so Dean listened to the roaring and screeching of metal and tires. It would have been lulling if only he had been able to sleep.

But even sleep as a distraction was denied to him.

So he just lay there, listening to the hum of cars from the TV, getting louder when the voiceover fell silent, then lowering in volume again when the annotator said something about make and model of the car. When the engine sound got unexpectedly loud, Dean focused his gaze on the TV set, trying to figure out what was going on now. But at the same moment, Bobby abruptly got up from the other bed, and belatedly Dean realized that the sound hadn't come from the TV at all.

It was a car right outside the motel, not one on TV. It was an engine sound Dean would recognize anywhere. The Impala had just pulled up in front of the motel room, and that meant that Sam was back. The buzzing feeling in Dean's stomach increased as he waited for what was going to happen next. If things hadn't gone horribly wrong, Sam was alive, and he was back. It didn't explain why Dean still wasn't able to move a single muscle, but as long as Sam was back that was not important.

Hunter that he was, Bobby approached the door with his shotgun in hand, but the door opened before the older man had even reached it. From his position, Dean couldn't see the door, or who was standing in front of it. But he heard Bobby's sharp intake of breath, and the sound of heavy, dragging steps come into the room.

Something wasn't right here.

And Dean only realized how wrong things were when Sam stepped into his line of vision. The light in the room was dim, but the shuffling steps were already indication enough. When Sam came into view, he was walking slightly hunched over, and the dim light was enough to see that he was extremely pale. His clothes were wet and stained with dirt and leaves and other things Dean couldn't make out. Sam stopped, then took a tumbling step closer to the bed, and as he stepped into the light, Dean could see the spatters of blood all over Sam's stark white face.

Sam's eyes were wide as he stared down at the bed.

"No," he wrenched out in a deep and hoarse whisper, then his eyes suddenly rolled back in his head. The last thing Dean saw was Sam drop to the floor between the beds, then he suddenly felt as if someone had punched him hard in the stomach, punched all the air out of his lungs.

Then everything turned dark.

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*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*

**TBC...**

*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*SN*

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Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm sorry that this one took so long to get out. I got stuck at one point during the chapter and simply didn't get any further, no matter how hard I tried.

I hope you can forgive me, and I will work hard to get the next (and probably last) chapter out sooner.

A special "hi" goes out to **Cal **with this chapter. Isis passed on the message, and I'm really glad that you're enjoying the story. It was by far the most interesting way of getting a review that I've received so far. So thanks for that.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 6**

The pain was horrible.

It felt as if someone was banging against the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer, over and over and _over_ again, and then once more just for good measure. It was a pulsing, blinding pain. Dean had suffered from a number of concussions in his life before, but this beat all hangovers and concussions he might have suffered over the past decades. It was _The_ Headache, one that justified the use of capital letters and set the scale for all future headaches to come.

It was a bit hard to piece together what had happened, or where exactly the pain was coming from other than the inside of his skull, obviously. Right now he didn't care. Some pain pills would be nice, or at least someone who could tell him what the hell had happened.

Light was seeping into the room between the gaps of the drawn curtains. Not much light, but enough for him to make out some details. A motel room, standard layout, standard equipment. Right, now he only needed to find Sam. He was sure things were going to make sense as soon as Sam was there to tell him what had happened.

But no matter how much Dean strained to turn his head, he couldn't move. He couldn't move a single muscle.

And then it all came back. The witch, and the spell she had put him under. Sam had thought he was dead, and then he and Ruby had gone into the woods to find that witch and undo what she had done to him. He still couldn't move, that meant something must have gone wrong. But that wasn't important right now.

Dean had a hazy memory of his brother's pale and blood-splattered face, a mental image of Sam collapsing right in front of his eyes.

He needed to find Sam.

The bed to his right was empty as far as he could see, sheets rumpled but nobody on it. Neither Sam nor Bobby were around, and the thought scared Dean. Had Sam been injured? Had all the blood over his face been his? What if Sam had been hurt so badly that Bobby had taken him to the hospital?

Dean needed to get to his brother, he needed to find Sam, but without help he wasn't going to move from the bed. It was frustrating, and the longer he was left alone the more it scared him. It was as if his mind was on overdrive, compensating for the loss of his mobility by thinking up the most horrible scenarios of what could have happened to Sam.

If something had happened…if Sam was…Dean didn't know what he would do.

The sound of the bathroom door closing would have made Dean flinch or even jump if only he could have. It was Bobby who came out of the bathroom and into Dean's line of vision, dressed in jeans and flannel shirt, his hair damp. He tossed a wad of clothes onto the empty bed before he turned towards Dean. Dean wasn't sure, but he thought the eye-roll Bobby gave when he looked at him was more relieved than annoyed.

"'Bout time one of you woke up."

One of whom? Bobby's words weren't making much sense, and Dean didn't understand how the man could so calmly come towards him and sit down on the edge of the mattress when Sam was hurt and – even worse – unaccounted for.

"I swear, at times it's impossible to tell which one of you is the bigger idiot."

Dean could only blink up stupidly at Bobby. What the hell was the older man talking about?

Then he froze.

Blinked.

He had _blinked_. He hadn't been able to blink for the entire day, not even when the light had been blinding him. But now he had just blinked up at Bobby as if it was nothing. Which it shouldn't be, if things were normal.

He still couldn't move, but he could blink again, and more than that, he could actually move his eyes, looking farther to the left and right than he had been able to earlier. Still unable to quite believe it, Dean blinked frantically, testing out his newfound ability as if he was afraid it was going to vanish again if he didn't use it often enough.

He could blink again, and even though it seemed ridiculous, his eyes teared up at the thought. It just felt too good to finally have some measure of control back over his own body, no matter how small and insignificant it might seem.

Bobby watched Dean blink owlishly for a few moments, then he smiled.

"Yeah, I get it, you can blink again. That's great, Dean. You can stop now before you get a cramp or something."

Dean stopped abruptly, trying to put as much of a question into his gaze as he could. Bobby only rolled his eyes.

"You were out for nearly eight hours, in case you were wondering. It's slow going, but you've been getting better ever since. Your pulse is up to about ten heartbeats per minute, and ever since about four hours ago, your breathing became noticeable. It's going to take a little while longer for the spell to wear off, but I'd say your brother did it."

Sam.

Where the hell was Sam?

Dean didn't care if he could blink again or not, or if he was going to be able to do cartwheels in an hour or a day. He only wanted to know where Sam was.

Bobby must have seen the fear and worry in his gaze, because he rolled his eyes and reached out, turning Dean's head to the left with a gentle but firm grip around his jaw. It only took a small movement to change Dean's entire perspective, and he felt his heart sag in relief as his eyes fell on Sam. His brother was on the bed beside him, stretched out on his left side, fast asleep. His face was no longer covered in blood splatter, although there were some small cuts on Sam's forehead and left cheek that looked as if they had bled earlier. Not enough to account for all the blood Dean remembered seeing on Sam's face, but definitely signs that Sam had been hurt.

There were dark rings under Sam's eyes and his face looked pale and drawn, not relaxed even in sleep. Dean couldn't see whether or not Sam was hurt because the spare blanket covered him up to his shoulders. In fact, the only visible part of him aside from his face was Sam's left arm, which sneaked out from underneath the blanket and rested on Dean's chest, right above his heart.

Something uncoiled inside of Dean at the sight, a knot of tension that had been pulling him down dissolving from one moment to the next as he took the first conscious breath in what felt like forever. It was weak, not the deep heaving sigh of relief Dean had been angling for. But it was a breath. A conscious expansion of his lungs that had been denied to him for the past day.

Sam was okay, and he could breathe again.

There was another touch to his chin, and Bobby turned his head back into the other direction. Dean started blinking frantically because the movement meant he could no longer see Sam. He hadn't been able to make sure that Sam was okay, where and how he was hurt and how bad it was, but Bobby only rolled his eyes.

"Sam is still sleeping it off, and you'll have plenty of opportunity to stare at him later. Right now I want you to focus on yourself for a second, think you can do that?"

Dean rolled his eyes as much as he could, and the corners of Bobby's mouth tugged upwards slightly in a suppressed smile.

"Yeah well, not much you can do about it now anyway, is there? Now, let's make use of the fact that you can blink again. I want you to blink once for yes, and twice for no. Understood?"

Dean suppressed another eye roll, frustrated that he was unable to communicate anything beyond basic yes or no questions. He blinked once, exaggerating the movement as much as his weakened muscles allowed him. Bobby nodded with a grunt.

"Right. Are you in pain?"

Well, there was the decidedly untalented heavy metal band holding practice inside his head, using his skull for a drum kit in their rhythmic exercise. If Bobby was going to give him some pills for that, Dean guessed it warranted a single blink.

"I thought as much. Think you can swallow some pills and water?"

He hadn't even thought about that. Reflexively, Dean tried to swallow, but even though his brain sent the clear message to his mouth, nothing much happened. It wasn't that his mouth was dry, but he couldn't even seem to work up spit, let alone swallow. And while Dean wouldn't mind some water right now, he had the sinking realization that the end result of him trying to swallow anything right now would end with him drowning in a rather undignified way.

It felt like admitting defeat, but Dean blinked twice.

Bobby nodded.

"Okay, I thought it might take some more time."

He reached for something that was standing on the ground beside the bed, bending at the waist and vanishing from Dean's line of vision. When Bobby straightened up again, Dean couldn't help but feel his eyes widen slightly at the sight of the syringe in the older hunter's hand. He really wanted something against the pain, but he wasn't quite sure he was willing to have Bobby go all Florence Nightingale on him.

Back to the dilemma that he couldn't do anything against it even if he tried. Well, nothing but blink twice in the hope that Bobby was going to catch his meaning. Just for good measure, he blinked twice more. And then another time.

Bobby seemingly understood, and he replied with a shake of his head and a snort.

"It's not as if it was the first time I did this, so stop chickening out on me. You wouldn't complain if it were Sam in my place."

But then again Sam was another matter entirely. For their entire life, taking care of each other's hurts and injuries had been a daily responsibility. Dean was no stranger to somebody else coming too close to him with a needle, and it wasn't that he didn't trust Bobby. But right now, as helpless as he was to communicate much beyond yes and no, he didn't like the idea of anybody stabbing him with a syringe.

But for Bobby the topic seemed to be closed already. Dean felt a touch to his arm, the cold sensation of an alcoholic wipe, and the slight sting as the needle went into his skin, followed by a burning sensation as whatever painkiller Bobby was giving him ran into his veins. The needle was withdrawn again with a pat to Dean's arm.

"There, wasn't that bad now, was it? By the rate your heart is going right now, it might take a little longer for the stuff to take effect, but it should at least take the sting out of the pain."

Dean blinked once to let Bobby know that he had understood, but his mind wasn't really on whether or not his headache was going to go away soon. He wanted to know what had happened, and he needed to know that Sam was all right. But Bobby seemed oblivious to that desire, because the next thing he did was pull down the blanket over Dean's side and pull up his shirt, exposing his side to the cold air in the room.

Really, what was it with people undressing him when he was unable to stop them? Dean only wished that would finally stop.

"I stitched up the wound in your side while you were out of it," Bobby said as he peeled back the square of gauze against Dean's side and looked at the wound. "Figured it would hurt less that way, and it started bleeding when your heart picked up again. But it's looking good so far, and if we get you to take some antibiotics later, it should heal just fine."

Dean rolled his eyes again after that assessment. He wanted to move, wanted to be able to talk again. Worrying about an infection was pretty low on his list of priorities right now.

To his left, Sam suddenly groaned, and Dean would have spun his head around at the sound if only he could have. As it was, he could only move his eyes to the left, but no matter how much he strained, he couldn't even catch a glimpse of his brother.

Bobby chuckled.

"Give yourself whiplash in the eyes, why don't you? No matter how much you roll your eyes, the side of your head ain't made of glass."

Bobby's hand moved to Dean's chin again, turning his head to the left where Sam was still lying beside him, face now pinched as if in pain and his eyes moving restlessly underneath his lids. From the sound of his steps, Bobby was walking around the bed, but Dean's attention was focused on Sam alone and he barely even noticed.

"Guess he's waking up," Bobby supplied. "He's been out like a light ever since I put him next to you. Flopped his hand to your chest and was out like a baby, would have been adorable under any other circumstances. He didn't even flinch when I stitched him up."

That last sentence sent all the alarm bells ringing inside of Dean's head.

Why had Bobby stitched Sam up? That meant Sam had been injured, and the pale pallor of his face showed that he had lost some blood, but what the hell had happened? Had that witch gotten to him? Ruby? He was going to kill that bitch as soon as he found her again, no matter what promise Sam might have made to her. Ruby was going to die, as soon as Dean could move enough to hold the knife again.

But for now, thoughts of Ruby had to be put aside, because Sam stirred on the bed next to him, and that meant the demon really wasn't important for now.

Sam shifted around, head moving from one side to the other and his face creasing first in something that looked like confusion, then in definite pain. He pulled his hand away from Dean's chest, putting it against his own side as if trying to locate the source of his discomfort. Dean would never admit it out loud, but he felt a little bereft. This time it wasn't because of the warmth that was suddenly taken away. No, he was swaddled up warm and comfortably for the first time since this whole ordeal had begun.

What was so disconcerting was the loss of contact, though Dean had no idea why a simple touch could mean so much. But now that Sam was waking up, and the spell was slowly wearing off, they were bound to face the fallout of what had happened. And while the past day had been sheer emotional torture on them both, especially on Sam, Dean didn't even want to think about what was going to come next. There were a number of things, things Sam had said, things Ruby had said, that Dean couldn't get out of his mind.

But ever since Sam had discovered his heartbeat, it had been so easy to pretend that this was all that counted, that things were going to be back to normal in no time. The problem was, right now Dean wasn't too sure whether there still was any normal to return back to. It seemed just as likely that this whole string of events was going to blow up in their faces.

Sam groaned as his hand obviously touched where Bobby had stitched him up, and finally his eyelids began to flutter and he started blinking owlishly against the light in the room. Bobby took a step closer to the bed and into Sam's line of vision, something Dean was unable to do no matter how desperately he wished he could. It took a second, but then Sam seemed to be able to focus on Bobby, and something like recognition showed on his face.

"Bobby?" He rasped out, voice hoarse and rough. And a split second later, the memories were visibly rushing back and Sam shot up on the bed, face pulling into a pained grimace as the abrupt movement tore at his wound.

"Whoa, easy there," Bobby said, reaching out to steady Sam by the shoulders, but Dean was sure that Sam barely even noticed. As if honed by an internal beacon, his head turned unerringly towards Dean, eyes wide and fearful.

"Dean?"  
Dean would have loved to answer, but by now he knew that it would be useless to even try. And though he felt absolutely ridiculous, Dean didn't know what else to do to reassure his brother. So he blinked rapidly a few times. If possible, Sam's eyes widened even further.

"Dean?" Sam repeated. "Can you hear me?"

Dean blinked again, glad when Bobby decided to step in.

"His pulse is up, his breathing is getting better by the hour, and as you can see owl-boy can blink again. So I'd say it's safe to say that he's on the mend."

A small sound that could have been a sob escaped Sam's mouth, and as if he hadn't heard Bobby's words his hand went out to Dean's throat, searching out his pulse point. Sam's hand was trembling as he brought his fingers against Dean's skin and pressed, and Dean heard another barely audible sobbing sound as Sam found a heartbeat nearly immediately. Dean had no idea how fast his heart was beating by now, but if Bobby said his heart-rate had picked up again that meant it was way more reassuring than a once-in-a-minute heartbeat.

Judged by the look of utter relief on Sam's face, it was. He kept his fingers pressed against Dean's throat for a few long moments, assuring himself of the steady heartbeat, before he let his hand sink down again with a sigh of epic proportions.

"Thank God," he whispered. "I remember coming back here, and you weren't moving. I thought it hadn't worked."

Sam rubbed a hand over his face, and Bobby startled both him and Dean when he suddenly appeared beside Sam, holding out a glass of water. Dean hadn't even noticed that the older hunter had moved away form his position beside the bed to retrieve the water. Sam's hand was still shaking slightly when he took the glass with a grateful nod at Bobby and downed the liquid greedily.

Sam seemed to be getting a better grasp on himself as the seconds ticked by. The shaking abated, and he seemed to relax somewhat, even though the tension in his shoulders didn't vanish entirely.

Bobby pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed.

"What was it that you thought hadn't worked?"

Sam put the glass down on the bedside table and ran a hand through his hair.

"Bobby…not now. Can't that wait until later?"

No, it damn well couldn't wait until later. It couldn't wait for just a minute longer. Dean knew that no matter how often he blinked, he couldn't convey how urgently he needed to hear what had happened after Sam had left the motel room the previous night.

Fortunately, it seemed like Bobby was thinking along the same lines. And unlike Dean, Bobby could still speak.

"No kid, it can't wait. You leave to hunt down a witch, and when you come back hours later you barely stumble into the room before you collapse. And that was no small cut you were bleeding from. It took twelve stitches to patch you up, I'd say that warrants an explanation. And judged by your brother's frantic blinking, I'd say he agrees with me."

Sam sighed again, looking over at Dean as he shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. When his brother's gaze fell on him, Dean blinked once, an exaggerated movement that he hoped showed his brother that he agreed with everything Bobby had said.

"I…it worked, right? You said Dean is getting better." Unconsciously, Sam reached out and put his hand lightly on Dean's forearm, as if reassuring himself that his brother was indeed all right. "That's the main thing."

Bobby harrumphed. "Yeah, it is. Doesn't change the fact that we both want to know how exactly it happened."

It was painfully obvious that this particular point was something Sam had no desire to talk about. It was a good thing that Bobby seemed unwilling to let him off the hook anytime soon, because Dean would have done the same if only he had been able to. Far too many things had gone unsaid over the past months, and this time it wasn't even some big secret Sam had kept from him for months that were about to be revealed. Sam had gone hunting alone, Sam had gotten hurt. That required an explanation, as simple as that.

Sam sighed again, his hand tightening slightly against Dean's forearm.

"It was a spell," he finally said. "Ruby needed to cast a spell to counter the one the witch put on Dean. It was the only way to free Dean from the spell, and it had to be done before we tried to kill her."

Dean hated the fact that Sam used the word _we_ to describe himself and Ruby. It sounded wrong on so many levels, and while he rationally knew that it was nothing more than a throwaway phrase, Dean couldn't quite explain the degree of his repulsion.

"What kind of spell?" Bobby asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Sam remained silent for a few seconds. A few seconds too long, because even before Sam said something, Dean knew he wasn't going to like it.

"A blood sacrifice," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper.

And didn't Dean hate it when he always turned out to be right about the awful things.

"A what?"

Judged by the tone of his voice, Bobby was just as surprised by Sam's words as Dean was. Of all the stupid, harebrained things to do, offering himself up as a blood sacrifice with only a scheming demonic bitch for backup was probably the stupidest thing Sam had ever done in his entire life.

"It was the only way to undo what she did to Dean. The spell, it came from the knife she stabbed Dean with. And in order to break it, it took a willing sacrifice of blood to the same blade. I know what it sounds like Bobby, but I knew what I was doing. It wasn't the best of plans, but it was all we could come up with in the short time we had."

"What exactly was your plan then?"

Bobby's voice still was carefully neutral, wary even, and it was obvious by Sam's reaction that he realized that, too. The tension in his shoulders increased and he nervously kneaded his hands in his lap as he spoke, carefully not meeting either Bobby's or Dean's eyes.

"Ruby located the spring the witch drew her power from. It was…we thought that if we drew her attention to the spring, it might be easier to get to the knife. You know, try to distract her from what we were really up to. And it worked. There is a ritual that would desecrate the spring. Ruby told me what to do, and she hid while I started to recite it. And it didn't take long for her to show up, either."

Sam shook his head. "She wasn't exactly the prettiest witch we've ever dealt with, and that she seemed dead pissed about somebody getting too close to her spring certainly didn't help. She didn't even notice Ruby when she came storming towards me. Ruby made a grab for the knife, just like we had planned."

Sam fell silent after these words, and Dean wanted to yell at him on top of his lungs. He knew where this tale was going, and once he had full control over his body again, he was going to smack the living daylight out of his brother.

"Sam?"

Sam laughed and looked up at Bobby. "I could hardly stab myself, could I? As soon as Ruby had the knife, she stabbed me in the side." Seeing that Bobby was about to protest, Sam raised a hand and shook his head. "Do you think I wanted to do this? That I was comfortable with it? But it was the only plan we could come up with. The only thing that _worked_. Besides, it wasn't like she tried to gut me or anything."

"Twelve stitches, Sam. I'm just saying. That doesn't look like a careful and controlled thing to me."

Sam swallowed, his hand tightening in Dean's forearm reflexively.

"Cutting my thumb wouldn't have worked. I had to let her do it."

Bobby shook his head. "She could have hit a lung, Sam. Or an artery. Demons lie and deceive, putting a knife in a demon's hand and telling her to stab you is insane!"

"I know!" Sam raised his hands and let them drop limply into his lap again, as if he had no strength left anymore. "But there simply was no other choice. And I knew what I let myself in for. It doesn't make it better, but…" He shook his head, his voice going flat as he continued to speak. "Things are a little fuzzy after that. I remember that Ruby and the witch fought, and that Ruby told me to finish reading the ritual. So I did. I dropped the knife in the spring and then I must have passed out. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground, Ruby is standing over me, and the witch is dead, lying a few feet next to me. Ruby said that as soon as the spring was desecrated, the source of her power was gone and she could kill her. But I honestly don't remember anything about it. Ruby helped me to the car, then she left. That's it."

It sounded easy and final, like someone recounting a boring day at work, but Dean was nowhere near satisfied with that story. Any story that involved Ruby the bitch stabbing a knife into his brother, with his brother's approval, no less, required a _long_ explanation, as well as a lengthy lecture and maybe some serious smacking sense into Sam's gigantic head. And then they'd see.

Dean was in the mood for a lecture right then and there, and he didn't know exactly whether it was anger at Sam and the stupid risk he had taken, or merely the need to vent some anger that stemmed from frustration about his own inability to do anything to help Sam. He was unable to tell. All he knew was that he wanted to yell at somebody, wanted to smack somebody or something. Sam for being so stupid, Ruby for being a lying, scheming bitch. Himself, for getting caught by surprise by that witch in the first place.

But then he looked at Sam, really looked at Sam and the emotional turmoil that was going on behind his fake calm façade, and some of that anger receded. It wasn't only the paleness of his brother's features, and the small nicks and cuts all over his face. No, it was the anguished expression in Sam's eyes that did Dean in. He had a hard time being really pissed at Sam on any normal day. Well, he _had_ had, before he had returned from hell and had been reunited with a brother he barely even recognized at times.

But that look of anguish would always make Dean stop and forget all about his own anger. Sam was hurting, had been through the worst possible emotional ordeal over the past twenty-four hours, and that just wasn't _right_. Sam wasn't supposed to go through the torment of thinking his brother was dead, discovering that he wasn't, and getting stabbed by a demon in order to save him all in the span of a few short hours. In the face of that, all lecturing and berating could wait until things had settled a little, and Dean was better again.

And once that was the case, there was no place on earth, or in Hell, that Ruby would ever be safe from him. She was going to pay for everything she had said and done, and for what she hadn't said and had tried to keep from Sam over the past day. She had tried to screw with them, and she was going to pay dearly for it.

But not now.

For now, all that mattered was that it was over. Everything else could wait until things were back to normal, or whatever accounted for normal in the world of the Winchesters.

Dean was so lost in his muddled thoughts that he nearly missed his brother's soft-spoken next words. He probably would have, had Sam not tightened the grip of his fingers on Dean's arm again.

"I had to do it, Bobby. I…there was no other choice. There simply was no alternative."

And it was the absolute conviction in those words that shook Dean to the core, and at the same time touched him more than he was willing to admit. Sam had done what he had done, had gone in the woods and let himself get stabbed by a demon, because there hadn't been an alternative. At least not one that had been acceptable.

It was difficult to stay mad at Sam for what he had done when Dean would have done the same if their roles had been reversed. And that was what it always came down to. They only had each other, and they would go any length to keep that. Dean had lived by that premise for all his life. He had gone to Hell for it. And he could hardly fault Sam for doing the same.

No matter how much the mere thought that Sam had gotten hurt set all his protective instincts into overdrive. So maybe the lecture for stupidity and recklessness was going to be a small one this time.

Besides, there were plenty of other, far more worrisome things they were going to have to talk about once he was back on his feet again. He hadn't forgotten about the things Sam and especially Ruby had said the previous day. Things were far from all right again, but for now they were all alive and well.

The rest they could work out.

Or at least Dean desperately hoped they would be able to.

Because the alternative to that was one he didn't want to contemplate at all.

* * *

**TBC...**

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Thanks for reading, and as always please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	7. Chapter 7

So here's the next chapter. Thanks for all the comments and reviews, it really thrilled me how strongly you all responded to this story. And sorry for the delay, but real life right now leaves me barely any time to write.

This is the last chapter, with one epilogue still coming up.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 7**

If there was a certain logic to the order in which his single body parts slid back under his control, it was one Dean didn't understand.

It didn't help that he was so tired it bordered on exhaustion, despite the fact that he hadn't _done_ anything for the past day but lay around and stare ahead. But he was exhausted, and now that the witch's spell was broken, it seemed that his body was giving in to what it had been denied since the attack – sleep, and rest.

Dean couldn't help falling asleep, even if he wanted to stay awake. But his body had other ideas, and Dean kept drifting off, only to find that upon waking up his body had slid further under his command.

It was still slow going, but there was progress. Even if it wasn't always the best idea to immediately try out every rediscovered skill.

Blinking had been the first ability he had consciously noticed.

And then his breathing had slid further under his command. At first he had only been able to notice it, but soon Dean realized that he could actually control his breathing. Which meant that he could also hold his breath if he only put his mind to it.

Which, in hindsight, had been a bad idea. Dean was ready and willing to admit that.

But in his defense, Sam had seemed engrossed in whatever it was he had been doing on his laptop over by the table. How was Dean supposed to have known that something as simple as holding his breath was going to send his brother into a panicked fit?

Right, he couldn't have known.

Dean had only tried whether he could really hold his breath. He certainly hadn't anticipated that it would lead to Sam dropping everything and crossing the distance to the bed in less than a second, wide-eyed and panicked, slapping Dean's cheeks and frantically asking him what was wrong.

Dean remembered the CPR-experience only too well, and he wasn't particularly keen on having a repeat performance of that. Stunned by the degree of Sam's reaction, Dean had quickly released the breath again, making an effort to make his following breaths sound as deep and regular as possible.

The pure panic on Sam's face had startled him, and the look of plain and unhidden relief that replaced it once Dean started breathing again made a small guilty knot form in Dean's stomach. He hadn't meant to scare Sam like that, it had been the farthest thing on his mind. He simply wouldn't have thought that Sam was _this_ attuned to the sound of his breathing.

But obviously, Sam was listening closely to all the sounds coming from Dean while he was lying there, unable to communicate. So that little exercise in holding his breath had been a total bust. Well, not a total bust, since Sam abandoned his position at the table after that and sat down next to Dean on the bed, laptop balanced on his knees and one hand resting on his brother's chest. On any other day it might have felt overbearing and controlling, but it wasn't as if Dean could have done anything about it, anyway. Besides, somehow it was nice to know Sam was watching out for him, even if his mind seemed elsewhere. Not that Dean would ever admit to it out loud, of course.

But still there was no logical sequence to how his body slid back under his control. Blinking, breathing, and the next thing Dean knew suddenly he could swallow again. Which was nice to know, but somehow difficult to communicate without the ability to use words. He couldn't think of a way to tell Sam about it short of blinking Morse-code for _Hey look Sammy, I can swallow again_, and Dean was afraid if he tried that, he'd only end up giving himself a cramp. So he settled on swallowing as often and as loudly as he could in the hope that Sam would finally pick up on it.

With the swallowing came the thirst, and the added embarrassment of having Sam hold his head up while he greedily sipped water from a straw his brother was holding out for him. Need overrode dignity for that moment, but Dean vowed never to speak or even think of that particular occurrence again. It was just a one-time occurrence. There'd be no need for a repetition. Surely, if he could swallow again, movement of any part of his body was going to come next.

It didn't.

Because that would have been way too easy.

Instead, breathing turned into talking.

Dean had no idea how it happened, but somehow breathing turned into whispering. And the expression on Sam's face when Dean rasped out his name for the first time was definitely worth the effort to try and force himself to talk. But it was exhausting, far more exhausting than whispering should be, so Dean had to restrain himself. He wanted to talk, he wanted nothing more than to start talking and never stop, simply because he _could_, and because it felt great to finally be able to communicate again. He didn't even need to convey any meaning with his words. He simply wanted to talk about anything – about food, about music, movies, the frigging _weather_, Dean didn't care. He wanted to talk. Even more so, he saw how much Sam wanted him to talk. Sam needed to hear his voice, even if it was a barely audible whisper. Sam needed the reassurance, and that was what it took. Sam's need was enough of a reason, had been for all his life.

So for Sam's sake Dean talked as much as he could, but he simply didn't have the strength to say more than the most necessary things.

_Water_

_Pain_

_Bathroom_

Because in a world where the universe sucked and life was unfair, the next logical step after the ability to talk was his bladder reporting back for duty. It sucked. It sucked royally. But it fell right in line with the CPR, the groping inside his pockets, the undressing, the holding his head up to feed him water through a straw. It seemed that the last two days had been nothing but a string of ever increasing embarrassments.

They were so _never_ going to talk about this, ever.

And if Sam ever brought it up again, no matter the situation, that was the moment from which on Dean would start his life as an only child. Simple as that.

It wasn't so much the embarrassment. Dean had learned early on that with their kind of life, you just happened to come into situations where you had to let need override your dignity and let someone else help you, even if it concerned the most basic bodily functions. Not that Dean was in any way relaxed about the whole issue, but that wasn't the main problem.

It was that it was simply plain _wrong_.

For his whole life, Dean had been the protector, he had been the one to watch out and take care. He had been the one to look after Sam. For his whole life it had been his job to take care of Sam, not the other way around. It simply wasn't right, and no matter how screwed up their relationship currently was, Dean could not wait until he was physically back to normal again. Then he could try and start dealing with everything else that was wrong.

But while it was a continuous process to get there, it was also a frustratingly slow one.

It took hours before whispering no longer was a strenuous challenge, and even longer until it turned into talking with something that resembled a voice. And while swallowing was a useful ability to have, Dean wasn't going to drink any more water before he was able to at least move his legs again. He'd rather face the thirst than have a repeat performance of the bathroom trip that was never going to be mentioned again.

But more than anything, Dean craved movement. At least he could talk again, and Dean guessed he should be more grateful than frustrated about it. Because compared to a few hours ago, it was a huge step. But he needed to be able to _move_, not only communicate. Not being able to even shift on the bed made him feel exposed, far more vulnerable than he was used to feeling. Phantom itches all over his body teased him into trying to move again and again, and every time his arms and hands didn't react to his brain's commands, his frustration rose. Dean felt trapped in his own body, every cell of his being itching to move, but the muscles simply not obeying his commands.

It was the most frustrating thing he had been through in his entire life.

And even as it all returned, it all went way too slow.

It started with his right hand.

At first it was just a flutter of his fingers, so small that Dean wasn't sure it had really happened. But what felt like an involuntary muscle twitch became a small tapping of fingers against the blanket. The right hand first, then the left. Small movements at first, and a whole night passed before Dean was able to ball his hand into a fist. Even longer before he could lift his arm from the mattress or move his legs.

Dean knew, rationally, that he needed to give it time. The spell was broken, and all the signs said that it was going to take a while, but it was all going to come back. The rational part of his brain knew that. But that rational part could go screw itself every time Dean involuntarily wanted to move, or thought about shifting on the bed, only to find that his body wasn't moving an inch. He wanted to yell whenever it happened, and as it happened more and more often, he realized that the urge to yell wasn't too far away from the urge to cry.

In the end, he did neither, and the close calls were going to go just as unmentioned as the bathroom disaster was.

Besides, he couldn't vent his frustration the way he wanted to. Not with Sam being around. And Sam was always around during those hours. Whenever Dean drifted to awareness again after another involuntary nap, he found Sam turning towards him as if guided by an invisible beacon to the fact that Dean was now awake again. Whenever another part of his body slowly slid back under his control again, Sam was there, smile huge on his face and relief in his eyes, trying to help Dean even though it was obvious that he was struggling hard not to smother.

And whenever Dean went through another of those frustrating moments when he wanted to do something his body wasn't yet ready to do, whenever Dean growled in frustration or yelled at the world at large to just "damn it, fuck it all", Sam was there, wordlessly helping Dean to move as he wanted. It was Sam who made sure that Dean kept hydrated, that he ate something as soon as he was able to chew and swallow again, it was Sam who checked on his wound in regular intervals to make sure there was no sign of infection. And it was Sam who, when Dean's ability to move again was finally getting better and better, prevented his first moment of standing on his own two feet from ending in a spectacular face-plant.

What Sam did was fretting at the highest level, to a degree that Dean wouldn't have let him get away with in any other circumstances. It should have been frustrating and eating away at Dean's nerves, but for some strange reason it wasn't. Dean was by no means comfortable with anything that was going on, or with the degree of help he needed as his body only slowly got back to normal. But Sam's silent presence was actually calming him, grounding him. Reminding him that if was going to be all right, no matter how impossibly slow it seemed to progress.

And of course Bobby was still around, too. Which was probably the reason why Dean was struggling so hard not to let his frustration take over, and why Sam remained so stoically calm about everything even though Dean knew that after the emotional turmoil of the past two days he simply couldn't be. It wasn't for a lack of trust. If there was anybody in the world they could trust aside from one another, it was Bobby. But Bobby being there meant that it wasn't just the two of them. And even if Bobby hadn't been there, by now there were too many boundaries between Dean and his brother to lay everything bare. It wasn't the Winchester way, period. Especially not when somebody else was around, no matter how much they trusted that person.

And Bobby kept himself in the background as much as he could, as if he could sense how uncomfortable Dean was with the situation as a whole, and the fact that he was dependent on his brother's help for the most simple things.

Bobby limited himself to running errands, getting food, switching through the TV channels until he had found something Dean liked. And despite the awkwardness of the whole situation, Dean was glad that Bobby had decided to stick around. The witch was dead and dealt with, but Ruby was still around. Not to mention all the other fuglies who just kept on finding them wherever they went. And while Dean trusted Sam to have his back, right now he knew that his brother was exhausted and injured, with his mind was on other things. So it was good to know that someone else was keeping their eyes and ears open, and that Bobby was there in case something happened.

It were two very long, very frustrating days in that cramped motel room while Dean slowly relearned everything from talking to moving and walking. And he knew that he wasn't easy to deal with all the time, especially during those moments when his own expectations to his abilities went beyond what his body was actually capable of. But neither Sam nor Bobby ever said anything when Dean snarled and growled in a poor attempt to vent off his frustration, or when they ended up on the receiving end of one of his glares or curses simply because they happened to be around when Dean's irritation gained the upper hand.

Even after those endlessly long forty-eight hours of recuperation, Dean wasn't entirely back to normal again. But he was at a point where he could move, talk and walk, and even felt ready to hold and fire a gun if he had to.

Well enough for Bobby to leave.

It was something that came as Dean started to move around the motel room again on legs that were getting ever steadier. Not that either of them wanted Bobby to leave, or told him to. But with everything that had happened, there were so many things Sam and Dean needed to clear up, between them and with nobody else around before they even thought about leaving town, or going on a hunt again. Bobby knew about the siren, and while neither Sam nor Dean had filled him in on the details of what had happened after that witch had put Dean under the spell, Bobby knew them well enough to know when to leave them alone to work things out.

So he announced his departure on the morning of the third day, gruff and court and with no room left for discussion. He packed up, said something about a phone call, and a hunt he needed to check out, and told them to call if they needed anything.

Sam helped the older hunter load his stuff into his car, and it was after he left the room that Dean realized that this was the first time since Bobby's arrival that they were alone. Bobby turned towards Dean and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You boys watch out for each other now. There's a lot of things after you out there, and neither you nor your brother are at a hundred percent yet. Make sure you're all right again before you even think about hunting, you hear me?"

Dean smiled and put his hand against Bobby's arm. "Sure."

"I'm not only talking about your twin sewing jobs, Dean. Whatever it is that happened between Sam and you, work it out. With that demon bitch still out there and all the other crap that's happening, you have more than enough to deal with. Can't afford anything standing between the two of you on top of that."

Dean nodded, knowing that Bobby was right but not so sure that it would be that easy to work it all out as Bobby made it sound. But he'd be damned if he wasn't going to give it a try.

He allowed the older hunter to pull him in for a hug.

"Thanks Bobby," he said, and it came out more heartfelt than he had anticipated. It was a _thank you_ for coming, for being there when Sam needed him, no questions asked. But it was a gratitude that stretched farther than the fact that Bobby had dropped everything at short notice and come to Sam's side in time of need. The last time something had happened to Dean, Sam had been left on his own for four months, a time that had changed him beyond recognition in some aspects. Knowing that Bobby was there, and that Sam was turning to him for help when he needed it, was the most reassuring thing Dean had felt over the past months. A simple thank you didn't seem nowhere near enough to express his gratitude for that, but it had to be enough. And with Bobby, it was.

Bobby patted Dean's back a few times, then withdrew form the embrace.

"You take care now, Dean."

Dean simply nodded and watched Bobby take his leave, hugging Sam on the way out and climbing into his old truck. The sound of the old engine revving up followed by the dull thud as Sam closed the motel room door to the outside world was what tore him out of his momentary reverie.

Sam took a few steps into the room, a fake smile plastered on his face.

"You ready to leave this town behind? I could drive for a while, that way you can get some more rest."

And truth be told, Dean wanted nothing more than to get into the Impala and never look back at this town where witches attacked you out of the blue and stabbed you, making your brother think that you were dead. He wanted to drive away and scratch the town's existence from his mental map. But Bobby was right. They couldn't leave now. If they did, they were just going to fall back into their old patterns, pretending none of this had ever happened.

And while Dean normally was all for pushing things aside until they went away on their own, they couldn't afford to. Not this time, especially after everything that had happened. If they left things like they were now, it was going to blow up in their faces sooner rather than later. And Dean remembered the silent vow he had made to himself while he had been lying there, unable to move. He had vowed that if he came out of this again, all he was going to care about was Sam. Saving things between Sam and him before they drifted too far apart from each other to ever get back to normal again.

And that was what he was going to do.

So he shook his head and sank down on the edge of his bed.

"No."

Sam looked surprised, eyebrows going up and his mouth drawing into that surprised pout he always worse when Dean did something that went against his expectations.

"Why not? Are you all right? Do you need more pain meds?"

Dean just shook his head. This was crazy. It was probably the first time in their entire lives that Dean wanted to talk about something, and Sam was the one who was trying to ignore the issue. And as much as Dean appreciated his brother's concern for his wellbeing, after being cooped up for two days straight it was slowly getting annoying. Dean understood what Sam had gone through when he had thought Dean to be dead, he really did. But this constant worrying, the ever-repeated question whether Dean was all right, whether he needed more pain pills, a pillow or some help with fucking breathing, was going on his already thinly stretched nerves.

So Dean couldn't quite keep the anger from flashing in his eyes as he looked up at his brother.

"No, I don't need any more pain pills, Sam. How about you? Do you need pain meds, or a bandage change for the gaping wound in your side?"

Sam looked astonished at the sudden sharpness of Dean's voice, but his hand automatically went to his side, carefully touching the bandage underneath his t-shirt that covered up the knife wound, as if he was checking to see if he had torn his stitches. He looked startled, as if he hadn't expected Dean to remember his injury, much less mention it, but Dean hadn't forgotten.

It was hard to forget that Sam had allowed Ruby to ram a knife into his side for the sake of saving Dean. In fact, it was hard to forget all the things that had happened with Sam and Ruby over the past days.

Sam shook his head for a second, silently mulling Dean's words over in his head as if he was searching for a different sense in them. After a few silent moments, he drew up one of the room's chairs and sat down near the foot of the beds, looking at Dean.

"All right, what's going on?"

Dean drew a deep breath, struggling hard not to lash out. It was hard, his level of frustration had been rising constantly over the past days and he really, _really_ didn't want to have this discussion right now when his brother was playing stupid, acting as if nothing had happened that would keep them from getting back on the road.

"Nothing. Nothing at all, Sammy."

"Right. That's why you're acting as if I had suggested we trade the Impala for a hybrid just because I wanted to leave. So I'm asking you what's going on."

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "I'm just a little surprised."

Sam's eyebrows went up to his hairline. "About what?"

"You. Your fake cheerful 'Ready to leave' crap. What? You want to blaze out of here in a cloud of dust? '_Bumfuck Minnesota, witch-free since 2009_', let's move on to the next hunt?"

"What, so you're telling me you don't want to get out of here as fast as possible? You nearly died here, in case you had forgotten. Is it so surprising that I want to leave as fast as we can? We can drive for a few hours, then hole up somewhere else for a couple of days if you think you need more rest."

"It's not about me getting rest!" Dean threw his hands up in frustration, unsure whether Sam was deliberately misunderstanding him or whether he simply didn't get it. "I'm all for leaving this crappy town behind. But not like this."

Sam stared at Dean for a second or two, then he sank down on the bed facing Dean.

"All right, so what now? We're going to have a moment or something? I'm sorry I didn't figure it all out earlier, and that you had to lie around and worry that I was going to burn your body any moment. I can't imagine how hard that was, and I'm sorry."

No, Sam was deliberately being dumb, now Dean was sure of it. Sam just wasn't this thick.

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."

Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Then what do you want to talk about? What's so urgent that you of all people push off getting back on the road in favor of having a moment of sharing and caring?"

"Gee, I don't know Sam. Where do I start? How about we have another little talk about how I'm weak, and holding you back? Let's start with that, shall we? Because you can pretend for all you want, but we both know that all this '_It was just the siren talking_' is a load of crap. Especially since your pal Ruby was kind enough to spell it all out. For how long have you been whining about that behind my back, Sam? For how long have you run to Ruby, telling her how pathetic I am and how I'm holding you back from becoming the big hunter you think you ought to be?"

Sam's face fell for a few seconds before his eyes widened and he drew breath to say something. But Dean cut him off before he could bring out a single word. Dean didn't like how sharp and accusatory his voice sounded, but he couldn't help it. Merely the thought about Sam talking to Ruby about these things made his gut clench.

And though Dean didn't want to admit it, it hurt.

The thought that Sam had gone to Ruby to complain about Dean's weakness and how he was standing in Sam's way hurt more than Dean was willing to even think about.

"Dean, I…"

"No Sam. For how long has this been going on? You thought I didn't notice your sneaking out to meet with her, you think I wouldn't have found out about what you really think sooner or later, too?"

Sam shook his head frantically, as if trying to push the words away.

"No Dean, that's not what…"

"What Sam? What is it not? Because frankly, I don't know what the hell to think anymore. You keep meeting that demon bitch, keep baring your soul to her, keep practicing all those little tricks with her when you won't even _talk_ to me about what you were doing, let alone what you were planning. What do you want me to think, Sam? What do you want me to do? Am I holding you back? Is that it? Should I leave you alone? Do you want me to leave and let you go fight Lilith on your own?"

"What? No!"

Sam's eyes widened in a way that would have been comical in any other situation, and he actually jumped up from the bed and put himself in the small space between the bed and the door, as if to stop Dean from leaving.

As if Dean ever could.

After a second or two, Sam sighed and seemed to deflate a little.

"I…Dean, it's not like that."

Dean shook his head. "No Sam, I'm gonna need more than that. Because right now I don't know what is what. You think I'm dead and the second person you call is that demon bitch. She knows more about what's going on with you right now than I do. And you can't tell me that she hasn't taught you some new tricks, Sam. It's not just exorcising demons anymore. You flung Ruby all across the room and held her against the wall, with your _mind_. The only other people I've seen do something like this weren't people at all. They were demons."

Sam couldn't have reacted differently if Dean had dealt him a physical blow. He took a step back as if to try and keep his balance. With one hand on the footboard of the bed, as if to steady himself, Sam took a few steps to the side and bonelessly sank back down on the mattress. His face had paled rapidly, and in that moment he didn't look like a bulky 6'4'' tall man in his twenties. He looked like the five year old Sammy Dean remembered. The Sam Dean had thought he knew better than anybody else.

The Sam Dean wanted back, but who he was secretly afraid was gone for good.

"It scared me."

The words were so soft that Dean nearly missed them. When his head snapped up, he found that Sam had his head leaning into his hands, face buried in his palms and eyes cast to the floor.

"What?"

Sam shook his head and slowly looked up at Dean.

"I…I know what you're thinking, and I know what it has to look like, but you have to believe me Dean. I never wanted for any of this to happen."

"Then what Sam? Because right now, I have no idea where we stand. I have no frigging clue what is what. All I know is that you think I'm holding you back, and that before she revealed herself as the treacherous bitch that she was, you wanted to fight this war with Ruby and not with me. So what now, Sam? What do we do now?"

Sam sighed, but when he looked up at Dean again, there was a resolve and determination in his eyes which hadn't been there before.

"You want the truth?"

"It would be nice for a change, yeah."

Sam didn't react to the barb. He got up again and started pacing up and down the cramped space between the two beds, although he took great care not to get too close to where Dean was sitting.

"Ruby might have been lying about a lot of things, but not about that."

And while Dean had known that, it still felt like a stab at his insides, worse than the moment when the knife had cut through his side. If there was ever anything he had wanted to be a lie, this was it. And honestly, Dean had no idea what to say. It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but fact was it did.

Swallowing hard, Dean nodded. So that's how it was. At least now he knew for sure. That was a start, wasn't it?

Sam ran a hand over his face and shook his head again.

"I mean, you know how things were between us over the past months. If anybody does, it's you. Things have changed after you…after you came back. We both changed. And I…don't think for one moment that I'm not glad Castiel pulled you out. I am. But you came back and acted as if nothing had changed, and yet it was so painfully obvious that you were different. And you didn't tell me anything, Dean. You didn't tell me that you remember Hell, or what happened to you there. I had you back, but it felt as if I hardly knew you."

Sam sighed and cast his eyes to the floor for a second before he looked up at Dean again.

"You were different, and I had changed, too. Those four months…I had to _live_ them, Dean. Without you. And there was nothing that kept me going but revenge. And Ruby offered me a way to get that. That, and a way to use that demonic…taint in me for something good. And as wrong as trusting her turned out in the end, back then it was what kept me going. After you came back…damn it Dean, we didn't understand each other anymore. I couldn't understand why you were doing the things you did, why you kept lying to me about Hell, and I knew that there was no way you would ever understand why I kept working with Ruby."

"Yeah, which turned out to be an awesome idea, by the way."

Sam's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed in anger. "If we're doing all this just because you want to let out a big _I told you so_, we can as well stop now."

Dean rolled his eyes, but he bit back another remark. Sam talking was better than Sam shutting down on him and pretending that nothing had happened. Even if it meant hearing things he didn't particularly want to hear.

"You can't imagine what it's like to live knowing that I have demon blood in me, Dean. No matter what you do, you can't understand that. And Ruby was there, offering me a way to use it to _save_ people. Maybe even to kill Lilith. And you were against it. You just didn't understand, but when I tried to get to know why, you shut down on me."

"What, so this is all my fault now?"

Dean couldn't help his rising indignation. He might be ready to listen to some uncomfortable truths, but he wasn't going to let Sam lay the blame for everything that had happened on him. But Sam only shook his head wearily.

"No. I don't know whose fault it is. Mine. Ruby's. Yours. Probably all of that and yet nothing. It doesn't matter, either. What matters is that Ruby had her claws in me so deep that I didn't even think about who was right and wrong. I was trying to save the world, and you were holding me back. I wanted to go up against Lilith, and you kept holding me back."

"Because I'm weak. And you're the better, stronger hunter."

And the amount of venom in Dean's voice would have been enough to kill a horde of small rodents, but Sam barely seemed to notice. Instead, he nodded.

"Yeah. That's what I told Ruby. That's what it _felt_ like. You were too weak to fight Lilith the way I thought she needed to be fought. You were holding me back."

Dean swallowed even though his throat felt dry, and nodded. "I understand."

Sam shook his head, getting up from the bed again as if he couldn't bear to sit still.

"No, I don't think you understand. Damn it Dean, I'm _glad_ you were holding me back. If you hadn't, I have no idea what would have happened, what Ruby would have made me do. I see that now, and it took her leaving you for dead to make me see it. So whatever I might have thought, or said to Ruby, you were right with what you did. I was the one who didn't see what was really going on, and where it might lead."

And if there ever was a moment for _I told you so_, this was it. Yet Dean barely felt it, and let it pass without conscious acknowledgment. There was no moment of triumph or elation, no matter how small. There most certainly was no good side to him turning out to be right about something as screwed up as this.

Sam's next words, however, made his head snap up rapidly and chased away all thoughts about whether it really mattered which one of them had turned out to be right in the end.

"And when I told Ruby that you were weak, it's because you are."

"What the…"

Dean was on his feet in a heartbeat, anger taking over all other emotions that were coursing through him at that moment, and crossed the distance to Sam in three big strides. To his credit, Sam didn't back down and kept Dean's gaze even as his brother stepped clear into his personal space.

"The only thing that's wrong about that, Dean, is that you seem to be the only person on the planet who doesn't see that there's _nothing_ wrong with being weak on occasion. After what you've been through? I'd be surprised if there were no nightmares, no flashbacks, nothing at all. But you think you have to be the eternally strong one who has to make everything out on his own. If I had known earlier what had happened to you in Hell, I might have gotten it earlier. But you kept silent, and I didn't get it and…damn it yes, I resented you for being weak, and for holding me back."

Dean still didn't think he understood. "So you kept going back to Ruby."

Sam nodded. "Yes. Because I thought that I had to be the strong one. The one to make decisions, to keep my head in the game and find a way to find and kill Lilith. And Ruby offered me that chance. I should have known that it seemed too easy, too good to be true. But Ruby teaching me to use my powers, it gave me a feeling of control. For the first time in months, maybe even since you closed the deal and we started chasing after a way to get you out, I had the feeling that I was in control of things again. I could do something, I could finally act instead of just react. I was doing something to find Lilith instead of just waiting around for seal after seal to be broken. That's why I kept going back to her. That's why I didn't listen to you, even though I should have."

Dean shrugged, his earlier anger evaporated into an encompassing numbness that left him unsure of what to do next. So now he knew, but to be honest, he had no idea what to make of it. Not really.

"Was part of the whole control thing that she taught you how to throw people across the room with just your mind?"

Sam's throat moved with a heavy swallowing motion, and he looked everywhere but right into Dean's eyes.

"No."

And despite the lack of eye contact, Dean found himself believing his brother. There simply was something, an undertone of anguish and maybe even fear in Sam's voice that made it impossible to take that one word for a lie.

"Ruby taught me how to exorcise, nothing else. She trained me, showed me how to do it without getting headaches or nosebleeds. We worked on getting better at that, but she never…"

Sam looked up at Dean, and there was something in his eyes that sent a shiver down Dean's spine.

"I don't know how it happened. Ruby…what she said, it made me so angry. I wanted her to stop, to shut up, and the next thing I know is that she's hanging against the wall and I'm holding her there. I've never done something like that before. It's like what happened when Max locked me in that closet and I had the vision of you getting shot. Back then I didn't know how I moved the wardrobe, either. It just…happened. And it scares me."

And that last sentence was Dean's undoing.

This was Sam, the Sam Dean knew. The fear, the doubt, the worries, those were things they had gone through before. It were things Dean knew how to deal with, even though he had no idea if this time a simple '_I won't let anything happen to you_' was going to suffice. But at least it was out in the open now. Dean could deal with that.

"We're going to figure something out, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "What if we don't, Dean? What if by letting Ruby teach me these things, by using these powers, I started something I can't stop anymore?"

Dean shook his head emphatically, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezing tightly until Sam looked into his eyes.

"We'll figure this out."

It was a promise Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to keep. But he was damn well going to try.

Sam nodded once, averting his eyes, and Dean let his hand drop from Sam's shoulder again. Sam was biting his lip, as if deliberating whether or not to say something, but then the words just seemed to blurt out.

"I didn't get angry because she was right."

Dean frowned, trying to keep up with this non-sequitur. "Huh?"

"Ruby. When I threw her against the wall. I didn't get angry because what she said was right."

Dean remembered the demons words that had driven his brother over the edge, the accusation that Sam had been glad about Dean's death, thinking it would have made things easier for him.

Dean nodded, not really knowing how to respond. "Okay."

"I'm serious, Dean. She started saying all these things about how she knew I must have been glad that you were dead, and that it made me feel relieved…I knew you could hear what she was saying, and I wanted her to stop. She knew you could hear everything, and I didn't want you to think that what she said was true. That's what I got angry about, not because anything she said was the truth."

Again, Dean didn't know how else to respond but nod, but seemingly that wasn't enough of a reaction for his brother. This time, it was Sam's hand that went out to Dean's shoulder, as if the physical contact would lend more emphasis to his words.

"I need you to understand that, Dean. None of what Ruby said was true. I…no matter what, that's something that's never going to happen. Even when I thought you were…before we found out that you were under a spell, I was never in any way relieved or glad that you were gone. Never."

And Dean hadn't known before, but hearing it spoken out loud was far more important than he would have ever thought. Right now, he was glad about every common denominator they had, no matter how small it was.

"Never thought you would have been."

Sam squeezed his shoulder once with a nod, then withdrew his hand from Dean's shoulder and shuffled somewhat awkwardly.

"So, what now?"

That actually made Dean laugh. "Damned if I know."

"We just take it from here then? Go look for the next hunt?"

And it was more than a question about how to proceed, Dean knew that. It was Sam looking to Dean to give them the direction for their next steps. Sam asking Dean if he was ready to leave it at that. If they were good with each other.

And frankly, Dean didn't know. He didn't think they were.

So he shook his head.

"No. First we put it all on the table. Everything. No holds barred. Anything you haven't told me yet, you tell me. Anything you want to know, you ask and I'll tell. No more secrets from now on, Sam."

And Sam nodded, without hesitation, and the amount of relief Dean felt at that was ridiculous.

"Yeah, let's do that."

"Good. But first, we spring this joint. Because you're right, I want to get out of this crappy excuse for a town as quick as I can."

That brought a smile on Sam's face, and he turned towards their half-packed bags that were standing on one of the beds.

"I thought you'd never say that."

Sam handed Dean his duffel, movements still slightly hesitant due to the wound in his side. Dean could relate to that feeling. His own stab wound wasn't bothering him too much if he moved carefully, but he wouldn't want to twist unexpectedly or in any other way tear at his side right now, either.

For a few moments, the two silently packed their remaining clothes and possessions into the duffel bags. They didn't talk, but for once it wasn't an oppressive silence that had settled between them. Dean was very much aware that this had only been a start. There were still a lot of things they needed to talk about. But not here, not now. Not in the room Sam associated with thinking Dean was dead, and which was too much of a reminder of the complete helplessness Dean had felt during those long hours when he had been unable to move.

No, here wasn't the right place for that. They could do that in the car, in case Dean could stay awake long enough to hold a coherent conversation. Or in the next motel room. But not here.

"There's one thing I can't stop asking myself."

Sam's words tore Dean out of his thoughts, and he straightened up abruptly to look at Sam. A little too abruptly, the movement did exactly what Dean had vowed not to do earlier. It tore at the wound in his side, and despite his best intentions Dean couldn't quite keep the pain from showing on his face. Sam's eyes immediately narrowed in concern, but Dean waved him off.

"What?" He asked while picking up another shirt and stuffing it in their laundry duffel, keeping his movements exaggeratedly normal to assure Sam that nothing was wrong with his wound.

Sam shifted the rolled up pair of socks he was holding from one hand to the other, as if they were a new specimen that he didn't quite know how to handle.

"What if, despite everything, Ruby is right?"

Dean couldn't believe his ears. They had been through that, hadn't they?

"Sam, she was ready and willing to let you leave me for dead. What else is it going to take for you to understand that nothing coming out of her mouth is the truth?"

Sam shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

"Good. Because otherwise I think I'd have to punch you."

Sam laughed without any real mirth behind it and finally put the socks into the duffel bag.

"I know that I can't trust anything she said, Dean. I get it now, and it shouldn't have taken that much for me to understand it. She was using me for her own plan, whatever that is. But what if, behind all that, what if she was telling the truth about me? That the only way to stop Lilith is by using my powers. What if she was right about that?"

Dean drew a deep breath, his thoughts racing. Truth be told, he had absolutely no idea what to say. The only thing he did know for sure was that he wanted Sam to use his accursed powers as little as possible. Never would be just about fine with him. He turned and looked Sam straight in the eye.

"What if it is, but it's going to cost you?"

Now it was Sam's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

"These powers Sam, they come from a demon. Ultimately, no good can come out of that. I mean, just look at it. First it was visions, then you moved around furniture with your mind. Then it's exorcisms, and suddenly you start flinging around people. I mean, where is this going to lead if you keep using these powers? If it costs your soul, it's not worth it, Sammy."

The corner of Sam's mouth twitched at Dean's use of the nickname, but he still looked unconvinced.

"If it's the thing that will stop Lilith and the Apocalypse, should it matter?"

Something in Dean's stomach turned to ice at those words, and he immediately dropped the duffel bag to the bed and turned towards Sam, both hands immediately going for his brother's shoulders.

"Never say something like that again, Sam. Never."

Sam shrugged off Dean's hands and spread his arms. "But what if it's true? If those powers are what can save the world, what kind of bastard would I be to be more concerned about my own soul than that?"

Dean bit his lip, struggling hard not to just yell at Sam in frustration. There had been enough yelling and accusations for one day. Besides, he needed for Sam to understand, really _understand_, why Dean could never ever accept that as a possibility. Not even as the price for saving the world.

"The way I see it, if somebody – and I don't know if it's God or anybody else – gives us the crappy job to save the world, the least they can do is let us do it our way."

Sam only shook his head. "It's not a job, Dean. It's a responsibility. I mean, we're talking the freaking end of the world here."

"I know that. But damn it, neither of us asked to be involved in this crap. And let's be honest about this here – we both don't want the Apocalypse to happen. Demons ruling the world, Lucifer walking free, we'd be stupid to want that. But I'm not playing on any team here, Sam. Remember what Dad said about intel."

"You're not seriously bringing up any of his old Marine stuff now, are you?"

"The man wasn't perfect, I get that, but he was right. Dad always said only to ever trust your own intel. So that's what we do. Heaven, the angels, Ruby – they're all playing towards their own ends. They all have their own plans, and they want us to play along with them, no questions asked. But I'm not doing that anymore, and neither are you. We know we can't trust Ruby, or any other demon for that matter. And the more angels I meet, the more convinced I get that the number one job requirement for them is being a dick. They've been manipulating us just as much as Ruby did. And that's going to stop."

Sam drew breath to reply, but Dean shook his head.

"No. There's no other option here, Sam. We fight this war because that's what we do. We're going to stop Lilith because if we don't, nobody will. But we're damn well going to do it our way. If we can't trust Heaven and Hell anymore, we fall back to the only people we can trust. And that's ourselves."

A small smile spread over Sam's face. "And each other."

It felt so damn good to hear it, Dean didn't have any words to describe it. Didn't think he had to, either. So instead, he rolled his eyes at his brother.

"Great. Now you want to hug, don't you?"

The smile on Sam's face widened, and Dean was standing too close to escape before Sam with his octopus-reach had put an arm around him and was pulling him against his chest. And seriously, Dean had been through worse embarrassments over the past days, it wasn't as if his dignity could be further dented by a hug. He wrapped his own arms around Sam and patted his back.

"I have one suggestion for you, though." Dean said, his face muffled against Sam's collarbone. "The next time you're going all Baywatch on me with the CPR thing? Take a breath mint before you start. Just in case."

Sam's shoulders shook with what could have been laughter or maybe a suppressed sob. Dean didn't know. All he knew was that it had distracted Sam a little from the fact that they were still hugging. And maybe also from the fact that Dean was clinging to Sam just as much as the other way around.

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**TBC in the epilogue...**

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Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


	8. Chapter 8

Here it finally is - the epilogue and the last chapter of this story. I hadn't initially planned to write it at all - in the initial story plan, the previous chapter was the last. But then you all kept asking for a wrap-up on this particular storyline in your reviews, so I decided to write this in the hope that it will give what you were looking for.

Thanks for going on this ride with me. I really enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you'll enjoy reading this last part.

Just keep in mind that this story is set after "Sex and Violence", back when there were no revelations about the demon blood, let alone Ruby. So it has become a little bit AU for all things that happened after that episode.

Enjoy!

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**Epilogue**

He had imagined it differently.

Dean knew himself, and while he wasn't the type for self-reflection on a good day, he knew very well about his own shortcomings. Or whatever Sam and Bobby as well as other assorted people would call his shortcomings.

So yeah, he was vengeful. He held grudges.

Personally, Dean thought he had every right to. Especially in this case.

Nobody tried to mess with what was his and just walk away from it. _Nobody_. Not like this.

From the moment he had been able to hold a gun again, Dean had been thinking about retaliation. No, _revenge_. Pure and simple revenge. A clear message, short and distinct. Bloody, too. And knowing what he did about himself, Dean had imagined it all to go down quite differently.

He had thought blinding red rage was going to be involved, the kind where the rational part of his brain stopped functioning, leaving it up to that primal urge deep inside of him to deal out punishment as it was earned.

He had fully expected to lose control over himself and not regret a single second of it later.

But it all turned out different.

It was a bit anticlimactic, even.

The moment the door to the barn opened, Dean felt an eerie feeling of calm settle over him. Of course the distant, primal part of his brain was screaming to jump at that bitch and tear her from limb to limb, to rip her apart with his own bare hands and squeeze every last dark drop of demonic blood out of her body to make sure she would never, _ever_ mess with their lives again, but Dean took a deep breath and closed the lid on that dark gorge inside his head.

It was surprisingly easy, and wouldn't that have been food for thought in every other situation. But not now.

Now, all of Dean's attention was focused on watching Ruby as she entered the barn and walked inside the seemingly empty building. Dean could see her stop in the middle of the room, her eyes roaming around searchingly. Ruby's gaze passed the old wooden partition behind which Dean was hiding without the slightest moment of hesitation, and through the gaps in the old wood Dean watched as she turned around once, looking left and right, then stepped further into the barn towards the ladder leading up to the hayloft.

The moment she turned her back on him, Dean slowly rose from his crouching position and silently stepped up behind her.

"I wouldn't climb up that thing."

Ruby spun around, and with a grim satisfaction Dean watched surprise and shock flitter across her expression as she recognized who was standing behind her. Dean cocked an eyebrow and allowed a grin to pull up the corner of his mouth.

"The thing's old and rackety. You might catch a splinter or something."

Ruby's eyes went from Dean to the wooden partition he had been hiding behind, then to the barn door as if judging the distance and her chances to make it there before he caught up with her. After a second or two, a scowl settled on her face and she crossed her arms in front of her chest defiantly.

"Dean."

He would have thought it impossible to fit as much contempt into one syllable as that, but somehow she managed to.

"How did you…" Ruby interrupted herself and shook her head. "Of course. The hex bags."

Dean reached inside his jacket and withdrew the cloth-bound bag, tossing it to the floor now that it had outlived its usefulness.

"You can say about witches whatever you want, and trust me, I don't have many good things to say about your kind, but they do have some useful tricks. You had no clue that you weren't alone, did you? By the way, if you're looking for Old MacDonald, our farmer is on his way to the local ER. He's going to be fine, even though that particular demon wasn't too keen on going back to hell."

Seeing Ruby's slightly flabbergasted expression, Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"Now come on. You didn't seriously expect that it was going to be hard to find you. For the past months you've done nothing but chase every demonic omen in the hope that it was going to get you closer to finding Lilith. Whatever effed-up reason you have for running after her like a lost puppy, it made finding you a piece of cake."

Ruby's eyes narrowed. "Sam and I had a deal. I helped him save your life, and he was not going to come looking for me."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah well, Sam might have made that promise, but I didn't. Trust me, I was screaming bloody murder on the inside the whole time while the two of you were chatting."

Dean took a step towards Ruby, and with a grim satisfaction he noticed that Ruby took a corresponding step back, careful to keep the distance between them. Dean kept moving, his hands hanging unthreateningly by his side, but keeping up the constant motion so that Ruby didn't get a moment's respite and was constantly focused on where Dean's next step was going to place him.

"Just in case you were wondering, the demon had no idea where Lilith is."

Ruby laughed hollowly. "What, you're giving out information now?"

Dean shrugged. "I felt like sharing. You know, for old times' sake."

The words tasted bitter in Dean's mouth, but for now he wanted to keep Ruby talking while he waited for the right moment.

"Truth be told, you were here a little faster than anticipated. I thought for sure it would take you longer to get here from Wyoming."

Ruby struggled hard, but Dean saw the flicker in her eyes for a second. He chuckled.

"Now come on. Once you figure it out, you're very easy to read. There's demonic omens all over the States, and you're trying to find out which ones are the trail Lilith is leaving. The bitch seems to have a knack for leaving chaos and destruction wherever she goes, right? And that's what you're looking for. Crop failures and magnetic storms to tell you where a demon could be, mysterious disappearances and particularly heinous domestic violence, and presto! Ruby makes a run for it to look if Lilith is in town. Am I right?"

Ruby bit her lip, her mouth pulling into a grimace, but Dean could clearly see that his words had hit a mark. And really, if she hadn't wanted anyone to know how she was going on about finding Lilith, she shouldn't have told Sam all about it.

"So, Wyoming was a bust, right? Bobby thought as much. A problem requiring an exorcism, but nothing anywhere near Lilith's league. And you were too late for the party there, too. That must really suck."

"You don't know anything, Dean."

"Oh no?" He took another step, slowly edging them under the hayloft without Ruby noticing where they were going. "I know that whatever reason you have for finding Lilith, you sure seem to be out of luck. Did you ever think that maybe Lilith doesn't want you to find her?"

"Of course she doesn't!" Ruby shook her head. "I want her dead just as much as you do."

"Trust me, you don't. Besides, you seem to forget that while you had your little moment of revealing it all at the motel, I was lying there on the bed hearing every word you said. You might have had Sam wrapped around your little finger with all the lies you fed him, but don't you go around trying to tell me that you're trying to find Lilith for the greater good. Whatever the hell you're up to, it's nothing good as far as I'm concerned. And it's going to stop now."

He took another step towards Ruby, and as he had thought she took another step back. Dean would have laughed about how easy it was to anticipate her if he could have spared a thought.

"You're not going to kill me, Dean. You're not."

At that, Dean actually couldn't help the laugh that escaped. His hand strayed near the hilt of the knife where he had pushed it inside his jeans, not touching it, but reassured by its presence.

"And why ever not?"

Ruby cocked an eyebrow and for the first time since Dean had revealed herself made a step to the side that was not an immediate reaction to something Dean had done. Crossing her arms behind her back, she smiled and looked at Dean from the corner of her eyes.

"Tell me Dean, how is Sam these days?"

Something inside of Dean clenched at Ruby's mentioning of Sam's name, but he forced down any reaction. She wasn't going to goad him like that. Not again. Not with Sam. Ruby was only trying to get the upper hand in the conversation again, the desperate attempt of a demon who knew that she was cornered. Nothing more.

Things were good between him and Sam. Better than they had been since his return from Hell. That was something Dean was sure of, and nothing Ruby said could change that.

"We both know our Sammy, Dean."

"Don't call him that," Dean snarled, but Ruby only laughed.

"Don't you try to change the subject. We both know him, and we know that he wouldn't break a deal he made when his dearest brother's life was hanging in the balance. Sam would have never gone against his word and sought me with the intention to kill me. I gave him what he wanted, for a final time, and he was only too happy to let me go once the witch was dead. So what did you tell him? How did you explain your sudden need to know how I was going on about finding Lilith? And what did you do once you thought this might be a place I was going to come looking for her?"

Ruby took another few cocky strides to the side, walking in a half-circle around Dean. Dean turned with her, always keeping his face towards her. Their little dance was moving them slowly but surely directly underneath the hayloft, and Dean didn't stop it. He kept careful track of their movement, but in the meantime was content to let Ruby talk.

"Or did you wait until he was asleep before you snuck out of the motel room? You Winchesters seem to have a knack for that kind of thing. Sam was getting pretty good at it."

Dean only shook his head. "You know nothing about us."

"Oh no?" Ruby laughed, her confidence getting stronger as the conversation progressed. "I know enough, trust me. I know enough about Sam. Things he'd never even dream about telling you. And I know you, and how desperate you are to keep Sam by your side. I know how afraid you are of being alone, of seeing even your freak of a brother desert you and leave you all on your own. Because we both know that as soon as you're alone you're not going to see any more reason to keep living. Isn't that so, Dean?"

The words were like a sucker punch to Dean's gut. He knew that they shouldn't be touching him like they did, but he couldn't deny that there was some truth to them.

"So we both know you're not going to kill me, Dean. You're not going to sneak back into the motel room and feed Sam some crap story about how you had to go on a burger run in the middle of the night while he thought the job here was long finished already. And because you're nothing but a big pathetic baby, you're not going to burden Sam with the knowledge that you went behind his back and broke his word in his stead. So yes, I'm fairly sure that you're not going to kill me, Dean. You don't have what it takes."

"Like Sam has?"

Ruby's smile grew feral. "Like Sam has. He has a big part to play, and I have no doubt that when the time comes, he's going to step up to all expectations. Supersede them, even. If you weren't holding him back, Sam could already be great."

Dean felt a twinge in his gut as Ruby threw Sam's exact words at him. They shouldn't hurt anymore, but they did. And probably they would hurt for a long time to come.

"And that's why you were trying to make him leave me behind."

"It would have been so much easier." Ruby shook her head. "Sooner or later he's going to do it anyway, Dean. Better prepare. One day Sam is going to leave you behind. It would have been so much easier to just end it now. And he had been grieving for you already, but I'm sure you witnessed all that firsthand. It would have been the best for everyone if Sam had just turned around and never looked back when he had the chance. I only want what's best for Sam, do you really blame me for trying to make him see that?"

Dean laughed, a harsh and mirthless sound that sounded strange to his own ears.

"You know, I should thank you for that."

And Ruby's feeling of superiority seemed to crumble a little at that non-sequitur.

"What?"

"I should thank you for making Sam believe I was dead even when you knew better. And for trying to make him leave me behind."

"And why would you have to thank me for that?"

Dean smiled, knowing an opportunity to grasp the upper hand in the conversation again when he saw one. And this was one he wasn't going to let pass.

"Because without your little mind-games, Sam and I would probably still be lying to one another. We'd still be keeping things from one another, chasing after Lilith and other demonic bitches without realizing that we're missing something important here. If you hadn't tried to make Sam leave me for dead, we might have figured that out too late."

Ruby looked flabbergasted for a moment, the smile dying on her face before she forced it back on again.

"Oh. So you and Sam talked, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

They were standing under the hayloft now, and when Ruby made a step to the side, Dean stepped in the same direction, blocking her path to walk out from it.

"Nearly losing everything kinda puts all the other stuff into perspective, it seems."

"I'm sure it does." Ruby shook her head, looking at Dean with what would have been a pitying expression on any normal human being with feelings. "Listen Dean, I don't want to rain on your parade, but I've spent a lot of time with your brother lately. And trust me, Sam seemed anything but ready and willing to open up about what we were doing when he snuck out on you. And with good reason. Trust me Dean, if you know only _half_ the things your brother did while he was with me, you wouldn't be standing here chatting with me. You'd be a pathetic mess. For the past years, you've done nothing but tell Sam where to go and what to do! You've been controlling his entire life, forcing what you thought was best onto him, and beating him down whenever what he wanted to do went against what _you_ thought best. So answer me one question Dean – after all that, how can you think that whatever Sam told you was even close to half the truth? After all the secrets, the contempt, the hate – how can you be sure that he's ever going to reveal everything to you again?"

It was Ruby's big gun.

It was the moment when she thought she was pushing his buttons. Dean knew that.

It was what Ruby did: planting doubt, using their weaknesses against one another.

And she was right. After all the lies, the mistrust and deceit, Dean should have every reason to doubt that Sam had told him everything. Sam had lied before about what he had done. He had kept things from Dean before.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that trust was their weak spot, and while Ruby was no genius she definitely was a great schemer and a manipulative bitch who knew her job.

But Dean didn't only remember the lies. He also remembered the conversations he had had with his brother ever since they had left the motel after the witch's spell had been broken. He remembered the only rule to these conversations – everything on the table, no holds barred, and no accusations.

And most importantly, Dean remembered how Sam had struggled to tell some of the things he had been hiding from Dean, how hard it had been for him to reveal some of the downright lies he had told his brother. Dean remembered the moments when it had seemed as if Sam would prefer somebody gauging his eyes out with a rusty spoon to speaking out his next words, and how he had still said them. And he remembered how it had felt when their roles had been reversed and Sam had been the one to force unpleasant truths from him.

It hadn't been comfortable. It had been anything but. But it had been necessary, and it had been good for them. It had been the purge they had needed, and well worth the pain in the end.

Well worth it all because Ruby's words did not have the effect the demon desired. About a month ago that would have still been different, but right now Ruby's words didn't cause any pain, or doubt.

After everything that had happened over the past weeks, he and Sam were past that. Or so Dean hoped and prayed. But there was one thing he was sure of, and that was that Ruby was never ever going to stand in between them again.

He wasn't going to start that whole vicious circle all over again by doubting his brother now.

And when her words didn't have the desired effect of either unsettling Dean or setting him into a fit of denial-induced rage, Ruby seemed to realize that something had shifted since the last time her path had crossed that of the Winchesters. She took another step to the side, but this time Dean made no move to hide that he was blocking her way out of the barn.

Within a few seconds, the balance of power in their conversation had shifted again, and Ruby hadn't even noticed. Dean sneered at Ruby as the realization sank in and something like fear started to show on her face.

"You know, you keep saying how you remember what it's like to be human. But somewhere down the line, between Hell and screwing with people up here, you have forgotten that there's more to being human than living and breathing and not having to worry about being sent back to hell any second. And you know what? I feel sorry for you."

All pretence of control had vanished from Ruby's face, but at those words she visibly bristled.

"You what?"

"I feel sorry for you, Ruby."

Ruby shook her head and took a small step forward.

"How dare you? You pathetic, weak and self-loathing bastard have the guts to tell me that _you_ feel sorry for _me_? You are nothing, Dean. Your brother could be everything you always wanted to be and never had the chance to, and you say you feel sorry for _me_ because I'm able to see that while you're still stuck in denial?"

Dean smiled, a genuine, pitiful smile, and shook his head.

"No. I feel sorry for you because Hell has burnt away so much of your soul that you think what you remember about being human is real emotions. You have no idea what it means to be human, Ruby. You have no clue about loyalty, trust or devotion, or even about love. You have no idea what it means to be human anymore, and yet you're clinging so much to the idea that you still know all that. Makes you the pathetic one of us, don't you think? You remember being human, and you remember that once upon a time you had all that, but now all that's left of it is an even darker pit in your black hole of a soul. And now you envy everyone who can still feel all these things that you only have a lingering memory of. And that, Ruby, that's why I feel sorry for you."

Ruby's mouth gaped open, and for a few seconds she made move to speak but no words came out. Dean watched her with a shake of his head.

"And there's another thing that you'll never learn."

Ruby looked up at Dean, some of the defiance back in her eyes.

"And what would that be?"

"To pay attention so that nobody can maneuver you underneath a Devil's Trap."

Dean grinned and let his eyes flicker up towards the hayloft above them. Ruby's eyes grew wide, and then her gaze went upwards to follow Dean's.

To the wooden floor of the hayloft.

The bare wooden planks that were unmarred by chalk or paint.

Because yeah, the plan had been to put a Devil's Trap right there, but that had been before Ruby's early arrival had screwed up the schedule.

But Dean didn't wait for Ruby to register that little fact. The second her eyes glanced upwards, Dean burst into movement. He pounced, crossing the distance to the demon in one big leap, while he pulled the knife out of the waistband of his jeans mid-movement. He brought his arm up, ready to bring the knife down once and for all, but Ruby must have seen the movement from the corner of her eye, the fragment of a second before it would have been too late for her.

Dean felt a strong blow to his arm and nearly lost his grip on the knife. His momentum carried him forward and into Ruby, and the two of them tumbled to the dry straw on the ground of the barn. The impact knocked the air out of Dean for a second, but he tried to tighten his grip on the knife instead of letting go. The element of surprise was no longer on his side, and he knew he'd better end this before it turned into a long physical fight.

But Ruby had seen the knife and knew that this time Dean wasn't going to back down on his threat to kill her. So she fought with desperation. And with unfair tricks. Just as Dean brought up his left hand and curled it into a fist to use his momentary upper hand, Ruby pushed at him and rammed a knee at him from below – right into his groin.

Ruby's angle was off so that the blow didn't hit him full force, but damn it hurt plenty. Eyes watering from the pain, Dean forgot about punching Ruby and instead grabbed the lapels of her jacket, pulling her up and banging her head hard against the concrete barn floor. _Then_ he punched her.

But she was a demon, and the woman whose body she inhabited was long since dead. With no consideration whatsoever about possible damage, Ruby lurched up and threw Dean off of her. But even as she still scrambled to her knees, Dean was lunging towards her again. He didn't even bother to get up entirely. Instead he scrambled to his knees and lunged headfirst into the demon just as she was about to get up again, at the moment when her balance was still somewhat shaky.

Again, they tumbled to the floor, straw everywhere around and between and above them, and Dean struggled to get a solid grip on the knife again. He raised his right arm to bring the knife down, but Ruby was fighting him tooth and claw, holding against his arm with both her hands, straining and panting with the effort.

Dean was still reeling with pain from his nether regions – and honestly, she had earned to die like the bitch she was just for _that_ – but this time he was clever enough to keep his most private parts well away from her knees. But it was a battle of strength that wasn't going anywhere for the moment. With both her hands Ruby was able to hold Dean off, and lying on the ground with no leverage whatsoever Dean would need to let go and get to his feet again to get the knife in the demon somehow. And something in his brain was simply unwilling to let go and give Ruby another shot at getting to him before he got to her.

No, it was pushing her down until her strength ran out and he could stick the knife in her.

But then there was suddenly a touch to his hand, the grip of fingers encircling his wrist and going for the knife. For a second Dean was confused. Ruby still had both her hands on his forearm trying to push him off, and his free hand was clawing at hers in an attempt to pry the fingers off. So the appearance of a fifth hand out of nowhere confused him and sent his mind reeling for a second.

But only for a second.

Then Sam's voice said "Dean, I got it!", and Dean let go of the knife, and in one movement twisted to the side, letting himself fall to the ground. He took a firm hold on Ruby's arms with his hands, and stunned as she was by Sam's sudden appearance Ruby was too shell-shocked to let go of Dean's arm in time.

Dean rolled to the side, and his hold on Ruby and his momentum turned the demon right with him, exposing her side.

Ruby's face was right in front of his, and for a second all Dean saw was how her eyes widened in recognition and fear. Then her whole skull seemed to light up from the inside, her body jerked and convulsed a few times as her grip on Dean's arm tightened. With a final groan and flash of orange light glowing underneath her skin, her hands went slack and she sank to the ground unmoving, eyes staring ahead brokenly.

Dean freed his arm from her hands and rolled to the side, panting hard and finally able to curl up around his aching…middle, groaning in pain. Sam was by his side in a second, hand on his shoulder and his voice worried.

"Dean? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

The feeling of witnessing Sam's panic and being unable to do anything to react to it was still too fresh in Dean's mind. Dean didn't want it to ever be repeated, no matter how bad the pain in his groin was right now. So with superhuman effort Dean uncurled slightly and shook his head.

"She kicked me. Right where it hurts most. That_ bitch_!"

Sam chuckled, a relieved bubble of laughter not even Dean could begrudge him for, and patted his shoulder a few times.

"Come on. Let's get out of here, and I'll buy you a beer and an ice pack."

"Ha, ha. You're a riot, Sam."

But Dean stretched out his hand and allowed Sam to pull him to his feet. Standing slightly hunched over, he put his hands on his thighs and breathed deeply a couple of times, waiting for the pulsing pain to stop. Sam's hand unerringly went to his shoulder again, squeezing once.

"You okay?"

Dean brought up one of his own hands and patted Sam's. "I'm good."

He straightened fully and looked over at Ruby's body, barely noticing that Sam's hand slipped off his shoulder as she did so. Ruby was lying on the ground, her own knife sticking out of her side where Sam had rammed it between her ribs.

As Dean looked, Sam went over and bent down over Ruby's body. He pulled the knife out of her side and with a disgusted grimace wiped off the blood on the dead demon's jeans before he put it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he looked up at Dean and shook his head.

"Dude, I told you it was stupid to leave you here while I took the farmer to the ER."

Dean just waved his brother off. "Nah, it's okay. I had it under control."

Sam raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. "She kicked you, Dean. In the _groin_."

Dean shrugged. "And now she's dead. That should teach her."

He looked up at Sam, and for a second something passed between them that Dean would have been unable to put into words. He only knew that it was something important, and for a second time stood still as the last thing that had been unsettled between them was put to rest.

Dean nodded his head at the door to the barn that stood still open from Sam's hurried entry.

"Come on, let's go. It's over."

Sam nodded, then looked down at Ruby for a second. When he looked up again, Dean had the feeling that somehow his little brother was standing straighter than before.

"Yeah, it's over."

For a moment they kept their gazes locked, then they both turned and walked towards the door and out to the car. Time to put this to rest and focus on the more pressing matters in their lives. The Apocalypse. Lilith. Or maybe something less worrying for just one night. That promised beer and ice pack sounded good. If Sam threw in a burger, some fries and a crappy horror movie on TV, things were good in Dean's world.

* * *

**The End.**

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Thanks for reading. As always, please let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


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